


Sex, lies and zombie apocalypse

by WinterfellStark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, F/F, Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterfellStark/pseuds/WinterfellStark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It's one of those minutes that feel like an hour. She’s waiting. She’s waiting until it’s time to act, and in the meantime she’s one with the shadows she’s hiding in. Except for the fact that shadows don’t wield baseball bats… And they’re probably not scared as hell either. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It's three years after the zombie apocalypse and Sansa's life is not what she had expected it would be, but there are still a few surprises left for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

It's one of those minutes that feel like an hour. She’s waiting. She’s waiting until it’s time to act, and in the meantime she’s one with the shadows she’s hiding in. Except for the fact that shadows don’t wield baseball bats… And they’re probably not scared as hell either. 

It’s time. The hands that are holding the bat tremble slightly and the girl has to remind herself to stay calm, she’s been there before, she can do it. 

It’s going to be okay. 

One deep breath later, she leaps. 

She crashes against the limping figure and they both fall to the ground. But she’s quicker, and her first hit goes to the back, she wants to make sure it’ll stay on the ground. The second hit goes straight to the head because it’s her one chance to do it right, to finish the job quickly. She doesn’t want to miss the opportunity, no. She shivers when she hears the noise that the wood makes as it crashes against the head and she feels sick, but she doesn’t stop. 

She can’t stop. 

_This…_

Third hit. 

_… Isn’t…_

The skull cracks on the fourth. 

_… The normal…_

She hits again. The noises are disgusting. 

_… Life…_

And again. And again.

_… I wanted!_

The red headed girl keeps hitting the lifeless body until what used to be the head looks more like a puree than anything else. She has probably overdone it, way to be dramatic, she thinks. But at the same time, she needed to be more than one hundred percent sure that the thing wouldn’t get up… again. 

After all, it was already dead when it caught their scent. 

Fucking zombies. 

————— ————— 

 

No one really expects a zombie apocalypse. Not even those who used to say that it would definitely, definitely, happen believed it for reals. No, the truth is that it was just something fun to talk about, a thing that nerds liked to joke about. Oh, it was so hilarious to discuss weapons and supplies and exit strategies… pretending to have all those plans to survive an apocalypse. Yup, hilarious. 

Then it happened, and Westeros stopped being the prosperous continent that it used to be to become… well, a zombie dump. Basically, there wasn’t much left of it: empty cities, zombies roaming around freely, people killing each other for food and stuff… there are some communities out there, but overall… No, it’s not a good place to be stuck in. Essos never stood a chance either, and Sothoryos got the plague not long after the two other continents succumbed to it… all of them except Ulthos, or so they say. According to the rumors, Ulthos remains zombie free. The ones who are still alive think of it as paradise, the place they dream of, the one thing that keeps them from giving up altogether. For people, Ulthos means hope. 

Sansa, the girl who had been smashing a zombie’s skull until it wasn’t one anymore, well she doesn’t think of Ulthos as hope because she doesn’t have any left, not anymore. At least not about zombie free continents. If someone asked her she’d say it’s complete bullshit. She stopped believing in fairytales long time ago, she was forced to like most people. That’s why she thinks that there is no way Ulthos is free of zombies. They’re everywhere, _everywhere_. It only takes one person to carry the disease, so… how could Ulthos remain safe when no other place on earth had been invaded by them? Nonsense. 

Despite of her lack of faith in a zombie free world, Sansa refuses to stop fighting, she won’t give up. She decided long time ago that she wasn’t going to give them the pleasure of making it easy. She wasn’t going to present herself on a silver platter, “ _hey, zombies, come and get me. I’d make a nice main course_ ”. And who would have known? She was pretty good when it came to killing those things. So much for being a good girl before the apocalypse. None of that mattered anymore, though. Almost three years had passed since everything started, or ended (it depends on how one sees it) and it didn’t look like things were going to improve. 

Sansa had just celebrated her twenty first birthday when the first news of the infection appeared. At first, no one trusted them because, really, who could believe that a man in King’s Landing had eaten someone else’s face? No one, that’s who. And everyone knew that Twitter made weird jokes from time to time. People just rolled their eyes and kept living their normal lives. 

Not soon after that, they were all proven wrong. Governments, along with the media, tried to keep them in the dark for as long as possible. Denial in its purest form: if we don’t tell, it’s not happening. The silence lasted less than 48 hours. That’s all it took for people to realize that they were in deep, deep trouble. 

King’s Landing was where everything started and according to Sansa’s maths, it took less than ten months for the zombies to spread all along Westeros. Some people said that they came out of a lab, others that it was the Gods’ punishment, but honesty? No one knows, at least not as far as Sansa knows. And although it remains a mystery, she couldn’t care less about what started it. The only thing of importance now is that they are all in constant danger. In danger of being eaten, in danger of starving to death, in danger of running out of safe-to-drink water… It made Sansa realize how much they had taken for granted back in the day. 

They have to carry weapons and learn all sorts of surviving stuff like how to make a fire, how to hot-wire a car, the plants they can and can’t eat, what’s the best place to hide from the undead… it’s a new world. And in this world, it turns out that being a “spoiled little brat” who wanted bow lessons during her teenage years… it paid off. 

“This is so gross.” 

Sansa tries to clean the bat with the grass next to her but some of the blood and flesh remain there. She makes a disgusted noise and keeps cleaning. When she’s done, she looks to her right, where two boys stand, too shocked to move. Bran and Rickon, Sansa’s little brothers. Well, Sansa’s _teenage_ brothers. They are the ones that make her try to pretend that she doesn’t panic every time she has to face one of those things. The ones that make her want to keep fighting, even when things get hard. 

And they’re the ones who are looking at her in complete astonishment. 

“What?” 

“You looked kind of crazy right now.” Bran, the tallest one, shrugs. 

“Shut up, Bran!” Rickon whispers, elbowing his brother. 

“You shut up!” Bran slaps his arm. 

“Guys, stop it…” Sansa rolls her eyes, thinking that some things never change. “We should get moving. Let’s grab everything.” 

————— ————— 

Almost three years is a long time to be stuck together. Sansa never got along with them, not really, at least not before the zombie apocalypse happened. But now Bran and Rickon are all the family she has left and there is no way in the seven hells that she is going to lose either of them. Fucking zombies (Sansa’s most used words? Probably). She hates them more than anything in the world, but she imagines that most survivors do too, her thought isn’t really original at all. 

Theirs is one of the thousands of sad stories in the world, because they weren’t alone when the zombies first appeared. In the beginning it had been her mom, Robb… and Arya. She misses them so much that it hurts, and that’s why she tries not to think about her lost family most of the time. But she can never stop thinking about Arya, and not only because they shared a strange sisterly bond (despite their many differences) but also because she’s the one that she never saw dying. She just left. Disappeared. That’s why a part of her still doesn’t believe she’s dead. In the kind of world they live in now, though, Arya’s as good as dead to them. There’s no way they can meet with her again, not even if she had survived during all that time. It’s not like they can send her a “hey, where are you?” text, “Meet you back at home.”. If only. She misses texting, things were way easier before the zombies. 

Next to the feeling of missing Arya, she has one of guilt. Sansa blames herself for letting her run away two years ago. She should have seen it coming, she should have prevented it from happening. But no. Arya left alone. Her snarky comments, her annoying jokes, all gone. Sansa sighs. They should have never parted ways. They were a pack, they needed to stay together. 

“Are you okay?” 

Bran had to walk fast to catch up with her. Her long legs always give her a small advantage in the beginning. It’s useful when it comes to run away after emotional outbursts, like the one she just had. 

“Sure.” 

“You don’t sound okay.” 

“Yeah, well. Zombie apocalypse and all that, Bran.” 

“I _know_ , Sans. But you know that’s not what I’m asking. It—” 

“Just… stop. Stop worrying. Everything’s fine. Really.” 

She knows he won’t believe her, but whatever. Sansa strides away, not caring if they follow or not. 

Except that she does, she does care. A lot. And that’s why less than twenty steps later she stops right on her tracks and turns around, sighing in relief when she sees both of them approaching fast. 

“Come on, lazies.” She gives them a sad smile, hoping that it works as an apology. 

It does, because both boys smile. By then they’re all used to her sudden mood changes and bitchy answers, the same way they’re used to Bran’s gloominess from time to time, and to Rickon’s weird ass comments (seriously, though, if he wasn’t family… Sansa would be _really_ creeped out). They are an accepting family, after all. And most importantly… they’re all they have left. 

 

————— ————— 

_A day in the life of Sansa Stark, zombie apocalypse survivor._

When Sansa wakes up that morning she feels well rested, something that doesn’t normally happen. At night they have three hour watches, three shifts in total, which translates in them sleeping about six hours tops. She got the first shift that night, the good one. She was able to sleep until it was time to have breakfast and start moving again. 

Sansa prays to all the gods she knows of for a little bit of help to find a working car that day. The last one they had ran out of gas five days ago, and even though they spent a couple of days in the vicinity trying to find gas they had no such luck. Resources are getting scarce after all that time. 

_Seven am, breakfast time. Resources_ may _be scarce, but the Starks are nothing but ingenious when it comes to improvising meals_. Sansa talks to herself in a documentary voice. Who’s to say that she shouldn’t try to have fun in her daily life? 

Bran got a small fire started so they could boil some water. They had found instant coffee in a house the previous day, and Sansa couldn’t wait to get a cup of it. It had been more than a month since the last time. No milk, obviously, but one couldn’t be picky anymore. Sansa felt bad for her brothers who would never know what a proper cup of coffee was. They had been too young to have it before the zombies. Now, no matter how she described the taste of a cappuccino, they could only imagine. 

_The three siblings make a good team, they are efficient due to the years they’ve been doing that same thing every day_. Every fucking day, she thinks in her normal tone. She’s making it unofficial, there’s no cursing in her documentary. 

“What’s up with you today?” Rickon is the first one asking. 

Sansa frowns, silently asking him what he’s referring to. 

“You were laughing just now.” 

“I wasn’t.”

“You totally were.” Bran chimes in. 

“You know, there’s a difference between a laugh and a smile.” 

“Oh… snap!” He says, visibly amused by her comment. She just rolls her eyes. 

“Whatever.” 

They head towards the coast, same route they have been following for a few weeks. They want to get to the cliffs, find one of those fancy houses, settle down for a bit maybe? A guy they met on the road said that the cliffs are a great place to camp because zombies try avoid the sand. He also said that the salty smell makes them unable to detect humans. She doesn’t know if it’s true or not (she has a few doubts) but why shouldn’t they try? Sounds better than walking non stop. And the three of them are very tired of the whole backpack thing. Having a place to call “temporary home” sounds nice, anyway. 

Sansa knows that Bran and Rickon have other reasons to go to the coast. They want to find a working boat, they want to go to Ulthos. They believe those rumors… and Sansa remembers the old lady who took care of them as kids. She used to call them “sweet summer children” because they hadn’t seen what she had in her young days. Well, now they had. They had probably seen more horrors that the old lady could imagine. Despite Sansa’s tries, she hasn’t been able to get rid of their desires. They want to go to Ulthos and there’s nothing she can do to can’t stop them. It’s the damn Arya situation once again. Except this time she knows that they will convince her to go with them, because it’s that or staying in Westeros by herself… and family sticks together. 

“Look. Right there!” Bran points at the horizon, where a hunched silhouette is standing. 

Sansa’s pulse quickens. _Please, let it be alone, please…_

“Shit.” 

“There’s no better way to start the morning, is there?” Rickon asks, grinning. “Let’s kill some zombies!” 

Now _that’s_ the kind of comment that makes Sansa cringe. In the end, she just hopes he has a wicked sense of humor. Rickon asks Bran to lend him his machete, he wants to try new weapons. Apparently staying behind with the gun is too boring. _Good gods, Rickon._

So that morning, Bran is the one who stays behind, the gun ready on his hands. Sansa goes left and Rickon goes right. She can see him smiling, like they’re playing a game. Sansa shivers. If only… They attack at the same time, turns out it’s just one lone zombie, they’re lucky like that. Sansa hits its calves and what used to be a woman falls on the ground, making gurgling noises and trying to grab them with her hands. Rickon yells when he uses the machete to cut the neck, almost separating it from the body in just one move. Impressive. Sansa doesn’t want to see her face. She doesn’t want to see those dead eyes staring at them. So she closes her eyes and lets Rickon finish the job. 

Bran trots to reunite with them and Rickon tells him in a really excited manner how awesome his machete is. Bran is not trading it, though, so Rickon decides that he’ll look for one. With the amount of weapon nerds that their country had… surely he will find one without much trouble. 

“I’d kill for a lemon cake right now.” Sansa says, trying to distract them from the weapons. 

“Can’t believe you’re thinking about food when you just did that.” Bran looks a bit disgusted and Sansa laughs. 

“What? I’m just hungry.” 

She’s a great liar, or so she thinks. Because the truth is that she feels sick thinking about eating, but that’s the façade she needs to keep. She’s now the girl who acts like “haha I’m so brave I don’t mind eating after I’ve beaten a zombie to pulp” and stuff like that. At least (there’s always a silver lining) she’s not puking every time that happens, not anymore, like the first time she had to kill one herself, and the second, and the third… yeah, the first weeks were hard. They were hard on everyone, still, she only knows what she was feeling, and she felt like her old self was dying, dying because she didn’t belong in that world. What she didn’t realize back then is that a new Sansa would be reborn, like a phoenix. A phoenix who didn’t puke when killing zombies. 

“I think it was cool.” Rickon adds. “And I’m hungry too. Maybe killing zombies opens our appetites.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Sometimes, but only sometimes, Bran has enough of Rickon’s bullshit. 

“Fuck you, Bran.” 

And from time to time, the boys look at each other in a way that makes Sansa fear that they’ll start punching each other. It’s in those moments when she has to do her best “mom” impression. 

“Hey, watch the language, you two!” 

The boys shut up, all three of them realizing what an hypocrite Sansa is being. After all, cursing has become one of her main hobbies. When zombies took her life away and new Sansa was born she stopped caring about being the good girl she had always been. There was no place for good girls in that new world. Good girls got her brains eaten, and she wasn’t planning on letting those fuckers get her. Maybe it was stupid, but cursing made her feel in control, in a way. It was a matter of choosing. She chose to curse. She hadn’t chosen the zombie apocalypse, same way she hadn’t chosen that her sister would leave them in the middle of the night, nor to see how her mother got eaten from behind the security glass of a bank. No, she hadn’t chosen any of those things… but she could curse, and that choice was hers and hers alone. 

And seven hells, she was going to do it as fucking much as she fucking felt like. 

————— ————— 

“Awesome!” Sansa grins when she turns the ignition on and the car roars to life. If she could, she’d give something nice to Bran because gods, he’s great when it comes to hot-wiring cars. She doesn’t know what they would have done without him (and how he had been smart enough to google and research about it before Internet was a thing from the past). 

Bran and Rickon get in the dusty old car after fighting for the seat next to Sansa. Rickon wins, much to Bran’s chagrin. Sansa doesn’t say a thing, although she thinks that maybe she should have told Rickon that Bran deserved it after what he had done. Then again, he had been quite sensitive lately, apparently he has an idea of what “manly” means, so Sansa can’t say or do things that will hurt his manliness. It’s kind of amusing, really. 

She doesn’t even know what month it is, they should have started counting but back then they didn’t think it’d get so serious. Anyway, if her estimates are right, Rickon is already eighteen. Bran should be twenty and… well, she must be really close to being twenty four. When did that happen? She’s wondering about the changes Rickon’s going through, and how he’s getting stronger and stronger each passing day. He’s not as scrawny as he used to be (neither is Bran) but he’s just taller. Taller than both of them. Maybe Rickon’s the reason Bran is getting all pissy and moody. Maybe he feels he’ll stop being the “big” one. Men, go figure. 

“Half tank? Not bad!” Rickon high fives Bran. “Where do we go now?” 

There’s a world of endless possibilities open to them, all they ever needed was a car. 

————— ————— 

Sansa closes her eyes a millisecond before the impact. Then, after she hears the wheels crushing the body beneath them, she opens them again. She hates running over zombies. It’s disgusting, it’s kind of dangerous and… A necessity, yes, but seven hells, it’s just gross. 

They are on the lookout for houses with just one entrance. They don’t know the area that well and as long as it has some windows, Sansa doesn’t think they need more than one door. Doors mean trouble. So did windows, but at least with those they could see what was going on outside. She thinks of the literature she used to read, where lovers met by the window in secret. How romantic they used to be! Now all one can find outside one of those is a hungry zombie. To hell with romanticism, pragmatism is the new black. 

She’s happy when they find one good enough house before it’s dark, otherwise they would have had to sleep in the car, and it wasn’t something that Sansa was looking forward to. Bran has been checking his map telling them that if they can find another car, or some gas, they’ll reach their destiny in a little more than a day. That’s one of the best things that Sansa has heard in a while. 

There is no much left in the house, but the mattresses are in good condition (although dusty) and so are the few cans they find in the pantry. It’s a house that doesn’t look raided, just abandoned. Maybe it’s one of those areas, Sansa thinks, where people just left and there’s not a lot of transit going on. Hopefully. She doesn’t want more surprises. 

Sansa is cleaning the cutlery for their not-so-crappy dinner while Bran and Rickon set the table (like in the good old days) when she hears a branch snap outside. It’s such a tiny sound… one that, a few years ago, she wouldn’t have even noticed. But of course, that’s in the past. 

Now it’s a sound that fills her with terror. 

When she looks up, to her brothers, she knows that they have heard it too. They’re looking at her frantically, waiting for her orders. Sansa clenches her teeth, cursing. She can’t believe that zombies followed them there! She makes gestures hoping that they understand the “ _stop right there_ ” she’s trying to pass. She wants them to stay as still as possible. She reaches for the bat, never taking her eyes off the door. She’s going to have to check, she knows it and she’s dreading it. Her heart is racing. 

She turns towards Bran, who shakes his head. He doesn’t want her to go and she loves him for that. But it has to be her. She’s the one closer to the door. The one with less chances to make a sound on her way there. Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck!_

Sansa hates it all. 

Rickon checks the gun in his hands. He has only used it once before, when he got rid of a zombie with just one shot. Sansa thought that all those hours spent on the arcade with shooting video games paid off, at least. Still, they’ve taught him well. He knows that he’s the last one that should act. Guns are too loud, the noise would alert other zombies… he knows he can only use it in dire situations. In the end, he’s a good boy. 

One second is all it takes. Then the door opens and it’s chaos. Madness. 

A flash of light. 

“… the fuck!?” Sansa is blinded by it. 

Bran yells, next to her and she hears Rickon cursing. 

“Don’t shoot!” 

New voice. New person! 

Everyone stops at the same time as if they were frozen. Sansa blinks quickly, her sight coming back, and she assesses what’s going on. There’s a girl in front of them, slightly shorter than Sansa and slender. She raises her hands in surrender, throwing the gun she was carrying to the ground in front of them. Rickon runs to get it. 

“Please, don’t shoot.” She repeats. 

Sansa frowns at the stranger’s words. She has a bat on her hands and Bran has a huge machete. Still, the girl just focused on Rickon’s gun? That’s beyond rude, unacceptable! She shakes her head. 

“Being shot shouldn’t be the biggest of your worries, girl.” Sansa looks at Bran, he smirks in return. 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Rickon takes the lead and Sansa is glad he does. She needs time to collect her thoughts. 

“I- I got separated from my group. I’m alone. And I saw your car when I was walking on the hills there, you know?” She points somewhere in the distance. “I thought I’d reach you before it was dark. I’ve always been bad at measuring distances.” 

Rickon lowers the gun and a part of Sansa thinks he’s only doing that because the girl is, well, for a lack of a better word… gorgeous. 

“Were you bitten? Injured?” Sansa has to ask, no matter how terrible it is. She hopes that she understands, although she doesn’t care if the girl is offended by it, not really. They have to take these precautions in order to stay alive. 

“No, nothing. I wasn’t even close to them.” The girl looks outside, it’s a movement that Sansa recognizes. She’s making sure that they’re not behind her. That she’s in a zombie free area. 

It’s time to make up her mind. They can either help the girl or let her fend for herself. Sansa asks in her mind “what kind of person do you want to be?” and she knows that they’ll have to let her stay, at least for the night. It’s what her parents would have done. Otherwise, they’re as bad (or worse) than the zombies they’re hiding from. 

She gestures towards the table with the small lamp and their backpacks. Sure, it’s not fancy or anything like that… but there isn’t anything fancy, not anymore. At least not when it comes to the Stark. 

“Do you want to join us? We were about to have dinner. Kind of.” 

A grateful smile appears on the girl’s face, and relief above all. “That’d be _really_ nice.” 

She introduces herself to the siblings as Margaery, Margaery Tyrell. Her smile never leaves her face and Bran and Rickon smile back, of course they do. Teenagers. They’re probably fantasizing about getting laid already. Poor guys, things have gotten quite hard in that department lately. Most people don’t think about what a zombie apocalypse can do to teenagers… 

“Margaery, right?” Bran asks, fixing his hair as he speaks. Sansa rolls her eyes. “What happened to you? What’s your story?”

“We left Highgarden last year, that’s where we lived since everything started. We had such a nice house outside the city… but then it stopped being safe. My brother and I were the last ones of our group.” Margaery sits next to Sansa, while Rickon and Bran get stuff out of their backpacks. “Then the other day the zombies appeared out of nowhere. Not one or two like we are used to, no… there was at least a dozen.” 

She looks at them when she says it, waiting for their reaction. Both Rickon and Bran gasp in surprise. Sansa frowns. Those are really bad news. 

“It had been ages since we saw such a large group of them. My brother, Loras, he died trying to save me… trying to stop them from getting to where I was. He used himself as bait. Gods.”

Sansa can’t help it, but she shivers at the thought. They’ve been there, they know the feeling. 

“At least one of you survived.” Rickon offers. 

“Yeah, it might not seem like much right now, but it’s better than you two being dead…” Bran nods. “And you’ll remember him, so he won’t be completely gone.” 

While Margaery thanks them for their kind words, Sansa is still thinking about that dozen of zombies. She wonders if they could get away with it, if they could get rid of them all before they got them… maybe. Probably. They were a good team. One thing she was sure about, though, she didn’t want to test that theory.

“Were you followed?” She asks, not caring if she’s interrupting some emotional moment. 

“No.” 

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” She stares at the other girl, hoping to catch the lie, if there’s one. 

“I left the moment I saw them start eating my brother alive, if you must know. By then they were too busy to notice me.” Margaery glares back at Sansa. “I’m not stupid.” 

“Everyone relax.” Bran smiles awkwardly, he has never liked confrontations. “We’re just trying to keep the brains in our heads. Sansa’s just making sure we’re all safe…” 

“Sansa. So _that’s_ your name.” 

She doesn’t say anything, she just glares at Margaery, who’s looking at her with an arched eyebrow. She doesn’t get this girl and that bothers her more than she’d care to admit. 

“I’m Bran, and the scruffy one there is Rickon.” 

“Hey, you’re the scruffy one!” Rickon throws a bag of stale cookies at his brother’s head but misses. 

Then both of them start throwing things at each other and fighting while laughing. Sansa wonders if they’re doing that to impress the lady who’s with them now, if it’s in their genes or something, they try to be the best man in order to get the woman and procreate. Despite whatever reason they have to do what they’re doing, she can’t help but smile. Maybe the uneasiness she’s feeling is worth it, seeing her brothers have a tiny bit of fun is something she’s not used to anymore and their laugh and smiles are contagious. 

Margaery turns the attention back to her again, Sansa notices she’s staring and her smile fades away. She wonders if she’s figured out already who’s the head of the pack. 

“And where are you going?” She asks, softly. 

“We’re trying to get to White Harbor.” Sansa answers, simply. She doesn’t feel like giving her a longer explanation. 

“There’s nothing there, as far as I know. All the remaining boats are in King’s Landing, not here.” 

“Yeah, well. We have our own reasons.” 

Rickon and Bran stare silently. Just like that, the fight is over.

Arya. She’s never said so and neither have they… still, they all know she’s the real reason. White Harbor. That’s where Arya wanted to go before Sansa, Bran and Rickon vetoed it saying that it wasn’t a good idea, that they had to look for their own safety first. That — 

“You’re a woman of few words, I see.” 

Sansa shrugs, thinking that she might as well give Margaery a real reason to call her “a woman of few words”. Ugh.

Margaery shares the little food she has and accept the Stark’s generosity. Sansa wonders what would have happened to her if they hadn’t crossed paths. She doesn’t have much of anything, how would a girl like her get supplies? She doesn’t look like a fighter. Then she remembers that neither does she… so, who knows? 

That night, Bran takes the first shift guarding the camp. Sansa will be next, and then it’ll be Rickon’s turn. Sansa hopes they won’t get a reminder that night of why they need to take watches every night, she hopes they can just spend three boring hours staring at the darkness. She’d rather take that instead of the other option. 

They move the mattresses down to the living room, there’s not a lot of privacy like that… but they need to be close in case something happens in the middle of the night. Sansa sets her sleeping bag in one corner. She will have to use her backpack as a pillow because the ones in the house were a mess, but she’s used to her backpack. It’s funny how she doesn’t find it uncomfortable anymore, when until a few years ago she would have hated the idea of sleeping like that. 

The moonlight allows Sansa to look at the new girl. She set her sleeping bag a few meters away from Sansa, and she can see that Margaery’s not sleeping, by the looks of it she’s not even trying. Sansa wonders if she’s thinking of her brother. A part of her wishes that she could tell her that everything’s going to be fine, that she’ll never forget him but it’ll get easier to live with it, but what’s the point? She already knows that, for sure. He can’t be the first person she loses since the zombies, right? And… if he is, then Margaery is a really lucky girl, all things considered. 

But who knows? Maybe she’s thinking about how she’s going to kill them in the middle of the night, not her dead brother. Now that’s a thought worth of Rickon. 

Sansa curses internally. She hates when she creeps herself out, like… what’s the point on that? She feels stupid and useless. When she closes her eyes, to try to sleep, she has to think of wolves. Her “to-go” thought when she needs to relax. Something her parents taught her as a kid. 

Wolves running free in the snowy mountains of Winterfell, oblivious to the problems of the world they live in, blissfuly so… that’s the last image she sees in her mind before drifts off. 

————— ————— 

Something’s touching her shoulder… 

Something’s _touching_ her shoulder! 

Sansa opens her eyes alarmed, her hand already looking for the bat that, too, sleeps next to her… but it’s just Bran, who stares at her with sleepy eyes. She nods, not saying a word, and hugs him goodnight. It’s time for her watch. 

Bran lays next to Rickon and falls asleep instantly. Sansa rubs her eyes and looks around, wondering if there’s anything to do to kill time. There’s an almost full moon, so she starts counting the trees she sees in the horizon. Thirteen trees. Zero zombies. Good numbers. 

She yawns. She’d kill for a coffee. Or two. 

“Sansa?” 

She turns to Margaery, who’s sitting instead of laying down. She didn’t hear her moving, was she falling asleep? She chastises herself for putting her family in danger, no matter how tired she is, she _always_ needs to stay alert. 

“Yes?” She whispers back, because she doesn’t want to bother the boys. They should have all the rest they can get. 

“Can I join you for a while? I can’t sleep.” 

No, she doesn’t want company. _Her_ company. She doesn’t trust her. People are worse than zombies, she’s seen it plenty of times. And still, she hates herself for not believing this girl. She’s basically put her life on their hands… she’s trusting them and what is Sansa doing in return? Be suspicious. All the time. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Her parents raised her to be polite and after all the things she’s had to unlearn from them, being polite to that girl, that night… it’s the least she could do. She hears the shuffling of Margaery’s sleeping bag, and even though Sansa doesn’t turn to look, she can feel Margaery’s proximity and it makes her feel slightly anxious. 

“It’s hard to sleep knowing that they’re… out there.” 

Sansa shrugs. She’s used to it, more or less. She knows that sleeping is more important than being scared of zombies… even though she’d be lying if she said that she doesn’t have terrible nightmares about them, from time to time. The sad part? The nightmares aren’t worse than reality, not anymore. 

“I guess it can be.” She says, finally. 

They stay like that for a while. Sansa eventually looks at Margaery and notices that the girl has her eyes closed, her breaths long and slow. She can’t believe she fell asleep like that, but Sansa’s glad to be left alone again. For some reason, she was feeling too self conscious with the other girl next to her. 

A while later, when Sansa has less than half of her watch left, Margaery suddenly wakes up. She mumbles something and slowly makes her way to her sleeping bag. 

“Night, Sansa.” 

Margaery’s voice is so soft that Sansa isn’t sure that she’s heard for reals, maybe it was her imagination. Still, and after thinking for about two seconds more than she should have had… she replies. 

“Night… Margaery.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started thinking about writing this fic back in august... and after many hours spent talking about the zombie apocalypse with one of the most amazing girls ever (that's you, Ruth!)... here it is! Maybe it'll be four chapters. Maybe five. I still have to decide a few things. But anyway, enjoy :)
> 
> PS. This doesn't mean I'm done with Video Games, I'll post the new chapter soon enough.


	2. Chapter II

She has decided to keep track of how long Margaery is around them. For safety reasons, mainly. Out of boredom too, but that’s secondary. So, day one… she thinks. 

They get off to a bad start. The car runs out of gas earlier than they had anticipated which means that they have to go back to walking, as much as it annoys them all. Their backpacks are full with supplies and Sansa sets the pace. Quick. Quicker than she usually sets it, and after ten minutes she’s already panting, just slightly, while she tries to be a few feet ahead of them so they won’t notice. Behind her, Bran and Rickon struggle to keep up, now that they’ve restocked their supplies so it’s taking them time to get used to that new weight. Margaery is a few more steps behind them all, but still close enough. 

Sansa doesn’t go slower out of principles, she needs to know how much this Margaery girl can handle. Is she going to slow them down? Because she can’t and won’t accept it… If she’s going to stay with them, she needs to have enough stamina to keep up with them. 

No one mentioned anything that morning, about Margaery staying, but they all just assumed that she’d go with them, at least for the time being. Sansa doesn’t really know if it’s wise, they don’t know her, not one bit. If there’s something she’s learned thanks to the zombie apocalypse is that she shouldn’t trust no one, no one besides her own family. And said family is getting smaller and smaller. So keeping the girl with them sounds like a too big of a risk, but they have some humanity left and… damn it, they can’t just abandon her. Sansa smiles to herself when she realizes she’s thinking about Margaery as if she were a stray puppy or something. 

One of the risks of keeping her with them is how her brothers might become permanently stupid if they keep trying to impress her, or whatever it is they’re trying to do. For gods’ sake, Rickon even offered to carry Margaery’s bag for a while, “if she was tired” he said. Sansa was dumbfounded when she heard him asking. Who says that?! Like… he had issues keeping up with the pace too, he was carrying so much more weight! What in the seven hells? There’s a huge part of Sansa that wished that Margaery would have accepted his offer, because that would have taught Rickon a lesson. But of course, she refused politely. Too bad. Too fucking bad. 

After an hour and a half of walking in silence, Sansa tells them that they’ll rest for five or ten minutes. Margaery sits next to her. Is she doing that because they’re both girls or is it because of something else? She stares at her intently and Sansa frowns slightly. 

“What?” She finally mumbles. If she’s going to stare at her, she could at least say something! 

“Where are you from, Sansa?” 

_Why do you care?_ Sansa knows she’s being irrational, that she’s just making small conversation because otherwise it’s awkward as fuck. 

“Winterfell.” Bran answers for her. “Our family has always lived there.” 

Margaery turns to Bran, and Sansa sees something weird in the way she’s looking at him. Although she couldn’t tell why, not really. 

“Used to.” Sansa corrects. 

No one says anything back for a few seconds, and Sansa shakes her head slightly. 

“I went to Winterfell a couple of times. It was nice, but… cold.” Margaery smiles, trying to be charming or something. 

Sansa scoffs, but that doesn’t seem to bother Margaery because Rickon and Bran start laughing and she’s smiling to them. Good gods. It only takes a pretty face to make her brothers look as brainless as if they had been served as dinner to zombies. 

“Well, it’s called Winterfell for a reason.” Sansa says, bitterly. 

“Gods, Sansa.” Bran frowns at her, clearly disapproving her attitude. “Lighten up or something.”

She glares at her brother silently challenging him to keep talking if he dares, and she hopes that he will so she has an excuse to snap at Bran. But he knows better, so he keeps his mouth shut, and neither of them say a thing until it’s time to move again. Calling those few minutes awkward would be an understatement. 

No one told them that it gets extremely boring, no one said how tedious the zombie apocalypse can be. Long silent walks, everyone’s alone with their thoughts… Sansa tries to think of songs she used to love, but she’s forgotten a lot of them. She hums the chorus to herself, but she’s forgotten how they start or how they end. That makes her sadder than she would admit. 

“Taylor Swift.” 

Sansa frowns and turns to Margaery, who’s grinning at her from a couple of feet behind. 

“What?” 

“What you’re singing. Taylor Swift.”

“I wasn’t singing.” She’s turning into a grumpy old man, for fuck’s sake. 

Margaery has an ability to either ignore Sansa or ignore her remarks. She doesn’t seem to care if Sansa doesn’t show interest in talking to her or not. It’s annoying. Extremely so. 

“Shake it off. My brother loves that song.” Then she winces. “Loved.” 

Sansa doesn’t reply. There’s nothing she can say, but now she regrets humming that song. Memories are a bitch, and she doesn’t want Margaery to feel worse than she already does. She’s assuming, of course, because she has no idea of what’s going on in the girl’s mind… but still. 

“ _I stay out too late… got nothing in my brain… that’s what people say, mmmm-mmmm, that’s what people say_.” 

Margaery’s voice surprises Sansa, who turns to look at her with that “what in the seven hells” face she’s perfected over the years, but Margaery isn’t looking at her. She’s looking ahead of them, lost in her own thoughts. She turns to her brothers and they shrug, Rickon trying not to laugh and Bran looking as surprised as Sansa is as well. No one has sang among them in a long time… Since Arya was gone. She was the music enthusiast, she was the one making them sing together, making versions of really famous songs, tweaking them so they would be more… zombie apocalypse-appropriate. And now Margaery’s singing and Sansa doesn’t know how she feels. She wishes she had a button to turn off feelings. 

 

They see no zombies that day, and for that she’s grateful. Although (and this thought scares her) maybe it would have been a good way for releasing all the pent-up frustration. She’s going crazy, and she hates it. And to make matters worse, she has actually wondered if she’s PMSing, one of the worst questions anyone can ask a woman… yet she can’t help but wonder herself. Much to her chagrin, she can’t blame her hormones this time. She’s a bitch because she’s a bitch, no excuses available. 

“If you want, I can watch the camp too.” Margaery says, calling Sansa back from the world of her inner thoughts. 

Ah, there it is. Sansa had been wondering when Margaery would ask them that question, when she’d offer her help. And she does earlier than Sansa had anticipated, it’s strange and she doesn’t know how to feel about that either. Margaery must know that they will say no. Is she testing them? Is she letting them know that she’s aware that they don’t trust her? Because if it’s that… well, good for her! Way to go, clever girl. One doesn’t need to be a fucking braniac to know that you shouldn’t trust strangers in this new world. And if she’s honestly asking because she’s _that_ naïve, she supposes it’s kind of nice of her to offer? But also pointless because… well, see previous reason. 

“There’s no need for that. We have our schedules already, we’re used to them.” Sansa tries to stare subtlety, trying to see if the response bothers Margaery. But either she’s a great actress or she doesn’t care, because she nods and smiles. 

“Feel free to keep us company, tho.” Rickon says, showing his brightest smile. 

“Don’t be stupid. She should get all the rest she can get because tomorrow is going to be worse than today, if we don’t find a vehicle.” Bran, the voice of reason. 

Silence. An awkward one, again. Rickon glares at Bran and Sansa wonders what he’s thinking about. Hopefully not murder him in his sleep. He’s family, right? He wouldn’t do that. Sansa sighs. 

“I miss tv shows. I miss watching something before going to bed.” Margaery says, putting an end to the awkwardness. And for that, Sansa is kind of glad. “It gets so boring, do to the same thing every day, over and over again.” 

“I know, right?” 

“Do you get weirded out thinking that probably all those actors are dead?” 

“Or maybe they’re zombies.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting bitten by zombie Angelina Jolie.” Says Rickon with a pervy smile. 

“Oh come on. You can’t be serious.” Margaery arches an eyebrow at Rickon and he just shrugs. And Sansa thinks she must be imagining things because he can’t be blushing, can he? 

Bran starts talking excitedly about his favorite shows from before the apocalypse, and Sansa huffs to herself. It’s so pointless. Why bother talking about those things? She gets up and leaves to find some privacy, or at least to get away from their voices. She knows they’re staring at her, wondering what’s going on with her. She doesn’t care. _Stare all you want, you idiots._

 

“Is this going to become a thing or something?” Sansa asks later in the evening, when she’s watching the camp and Margaery leaves her sleeping back to go sit next to her. 

She thinks of Bran and how he said that it was stupid that Margaery would be losing sleep time just to keep Rickon company… and yet, here she is, not making her go back to sleep. 

“It may…” She hears Margaery’s soft laugh and Sansa shakes her head, slightly. “Gorgeous night.”

Sansa shrugs, although she knows that the other girl can’t see. So in the end, feeling like it’s a huge effort, she says “It is.”

Margaery spends maybe ten or fifteen minutes just sitting there, if Sansa didn’t hear her breathing and saw her silhouette she wouldn’t even be aware of her presence. After a while, she gets up again, and when she passes by Sansa’s side, she touches her shoulder and whispers. 

“Thanks for letting me stay with you…” 

You’re welcome. It’s okay. No big deal. Eh. Whatever. Yeah, sure. There are so many possible answers, yet Sansa says nothing back. It’s kind of infuriating how Margaery makes her feel like whatever she’ll come up with will be inappropriate. 

She wraps her arms around her body, trying to keep herself as warm as possible. Sansa has a few long hours ahead… and the worst thing is that she kind of wishes that Margaery would have stayed with her a little bit longer. At least, when she’s close, she gives Sansa something to think about. She’s counted enough stars for a couple of lifetimes now. 

————— ————— 

_Day two_. Sansa can’t help but wonder when Margaery will leave them, and if it’ll be soon. She bothers her with her smiles, and her caring about everyone and everything… why must she be so attentive? That is not natural, not anymore. She should stop. Sansa wants to make her stop. Except she doesn’t know how to and that makes nervous. 

Zombies are the answer. Who would have known? 

They interrupt their lunch, but it’s not all that bad because they’re in a plain and they see them from afar. Besides, it’s just a couple of them. They’ve caught their scent because that’s something they can’t control: the way the wind blows. Months ago, before Arya had left, Bran and her joked about how cool it’d be to become Storm from the X-Men. They’d say things like… “Do you know what happens when a zombie gets struck by lighting? The same thing that happens to everything else.” They imagined themselves frying the zombies with their lightings, being almost demigods. It was cute to watch, they had a lot of fun with Arya was around. And Sansa wonders if she’s the boring one of the family. But no time to think of these things. There are zombies waiting! 

With a groan, Sansa leaves the crackers on her bag. She’ll finish them later, if she’s even hungry. Margaery turns to them, scared. And maybe Sansa can’t be sure of what Margaery thinks, most of the times, but she’s pretty sure that in that moment she’s scared. Very, very scared. 

“What are we going to do?” she asks, alarmed.

“They’re far away.” Sansa says, shrugging. Then, noticing the panicked look on the other girl’s face she adds, “Relax. There’s plenty of time.”

“Okay. Sure…” She says, but there’s nothing sure in Margaery’s tone. 

“We have practice with this.” Rickon says and winks an eye at her. Sansa rolls her eyes. “You’ll see. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

His words don’t put Margaery at ease, she looks like she’s about to have a panic attack or something. Gods, they have bigger troubles than getting the damn girl to calm down! Hasn’t she survived for three years? She must have encountered them lots of times. Unless… unless they make her think of her dead brother. _Fuck, Sansa… why didn’t you think of that before?_

“Look, you’re staying here with Rickon. Bran and I will get them, you won’t even get close to them.” That’s the most compassionate she can be, at least for the moment. And considering their previous exchanges… it’s not that bad, right? 

“But I want to go get’em!” Rickon complains. 

“Fine. I’ll stay with Margaery.” 

Bran lets out a fake annoyed sigh and a second later he smiles appreciatively at Margaery, who despite her panic manages to roll her eyes and kind-of-smile. Sansa coughs to hide her laugh, Bran is a clever boy. Rickon huffs and mutters something that sounds like “fine”. 

By the time they’re done arguing who does what, the zombies are closer than what Sansa thinks it’s acceptable, so they leave the bags with a very gloomy Rickon and a terrified Margaery… and they’re off to face the undead. 

Sansa, as usual, takes a few deep breaths as they get closer. 

“You know, I really dislike this part.” Bran says in almost a whisper. 

“I hear you.” 

Sansa misses having a bow. She could kill zombies from a distance and very quietly. Also, not as gross as the damn bat or Bran’s machete. Sansa adds “getting a new bow” in her mental to-do list. Hers got left behind ages ago when they had to rush out of a building escaping from zombies. That had been quite surreal, because they ended up pedalling away on very girly and pink bikes and… yes, it wasn’t very movie-like. Unless it was one of those absurd comedies. 

_Back to reality, Sansa._ She tightens the grip on the bat and groans. They’re close and she can see their faces. Or what’s left of them. No, it’s not pretty and the smell is even worse than the sight. But by the time they’re done there’ll be two less zombies in the world, and that’s going to be their little contribution of the day. If the universe wants to thank them, and really, it should… it could send them a working car or something. They’d appreciate it. 

 

“Our knights in… not so shiny armours.” Margaery says, welcoming them with a smile a few minutes later. 

Bran smiles back and Sansa just shrugs, they did what they had to do. Nothing more, nothing less. She looks around, hoping for a miracle from the gods… but of course, there are no cars waiting for them afterwards. Only that feeling that Sansa can’t shake off, the same one that comes to her every time they have to do that. She knows she has to kill zombies, because it’s either them or her family, but she doesn’t have to like it. The part of her brain that wants to make Sansa feel better repeats the words that she’s heard plenty of times before.

_Is it really killing if they were already dead?_

————— ————— 

It’s day four. 

No one has said anything yet, so they all assume and accept that Margaery is now part of the group at least until she decides that she’s had enough. She doesn’t complain about their schedules, nor about the paths they take, she has nowhere to go, nowhere to be. But probably, what Sansa appreciates the most is that Margaery doesn’t question who’s in command. It’s not like she could have done anything about that either, if Margaery doesn’t like it… well, she can go try join some other group, for all she cares. On the plus side, it’s helpful to have another pair of eyes, and since that first zombie incident Margaery’s been quite observant with their surroundings. 

Bran and Rickon keep acting like silly boys from time to time, but the novelty of having a girl who’s not blood related to them goes away eventually and they start treating her like they would treat a sister. For that Sansa is glad. She could see that Margaery has zero interest on them so it was kind of excruciating to see how they tried and tried to impress her getting nowhere. At least there won’t be any more second hand embarrassment situations. 

 

Sansa’s not at all surprised when that evening Margaery joins her as well. She’s done that every single night since she arrived. Maybe she does the same thing when her brothers are up, but there’s this part in Sansa’s brain that make her believe that no, she’s the only one Margaery gets up for. What a stupid thought. 

“You know, I’m sure I’ll get to have a conversation with you. One day.” 

Sansa snorts. “Yeah?” 

_Don’t hold your breath._

“I won’t hold my breath, though. Because you’re… damn. You’re hard to get to know, Sansa.” 

She doesn’t say anything, and she knows that she’s just giving Margaery more reasons to think like that but… ugh! She shouldn’t feel like she has to say something, right? It should come naturally to her and… it doesn’t. It has to mean something. 

“But well…” It seems like Margaery has no problem talking for both of them. “Some people are worth the work.” 

————— ————— 

Day six. It’s been almost a week and even if they are in the middle of the spring (or so Sansa assume) it suddenly feels like a Christmas morning. Life’s wonderful! Or as wonderful as it can be when you’re trying to survive the zombies. 

“Holy shit!” 

“No way!” 

Rickon starts laughing, and even Sansa lets out a small giggle. A nuclear shelter! Or a something-shelter, Sansa doesn’t know the difference, and she doesn’t care about it either. In that moment the only thing that matters is how they’ve just found paradise on earth. A little oasis in the middle of all the chaos. A— okay, okay. She’ll stop. There are very little things that get them excited, but finding bunkers that paranoid people built? That’s more than enough to make their day. 

“I say we stay here for a few days.” Sansa announces when they start exploring the underground complex, which miraculously has some lights. 

“I say, and I think I speak for the rest of us… Yes please.” Bran grins, looking everywhere around them. 

It’s not that big, but it has a few rooms, a couple of sofas in the “lounge area” but what’s more importantly, the kitchen’s pantry is full of goodies. Lots of cans that could last for at least two or three weeks according to Sansa’s quick math, and it’s not like they can take everything with them, not without a vehicle, but they can live like they used to for as long as they decide to stay. She predicts a feast that night. There’s even a few wine bottles! And beer. But warm beer… she’s not up for it. Maybe Bran and Rickon will feel like getting drunk and experiencing sort of what teenagers used to do back in the day. She doesn’t even want to think about how it’d be to walk for a few hours being hungover. Nor fighting zombies. So that’s probably the only time they have to get drunk without big consequences, at least for the time being. 

They keep investigating, there are two rooms with four bunk beds in each. Either the people that built this had a really large family or they weren’t opposed to the idea of helping others. Rickon quickly throws his stuff in one of the rooms and announces that it’s for “the boys”. Sansa rolls her eyes and glances briefly at Margaery, who just smiles at them while they high five. It’s like they’re back in school when they were supposed to pick partners and everyone got to pick their best friend but one or two people who usually ended up pairing with someone they really disliked. 

“So, Sansa… slumber party?” Margaery’s focused on her once again, while Bran and Rickon talk excitedly and leave to explore the rest of the place. 

“Totes. I’ll get the pillows ready for the fight.” Sansa answers, dryly as she turns to keep checking the rest of the rooms. 

She hears Margaery laugh and sighs. No matter what she does or says, Margaery won’t be put off by her. Maybe it’s a lost cause… maybe she’ll get tired of even trying to be left alone soon. Who knows. Maybe it could be… fun. But of course, that’s a dumb thought. 

————— ————— 

Sansa’s lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. The lights are dim, but she won’t complain because any light at all is way more than any of them would have expected or hoped for. She stares at the ceiling simply enjoying not having to worry about zombies for a bit. The entrance door is tightly shut, they checked and double checked. There’s no way that zombies are going to get through it, so that door is about to give them their so well deserved rest. Her pleasant thoughts are interrupted when she hears the knock on the door. A second later, and before she has even replied, Margaery comes in. 

“So your brothers are bonding over porn.” She says, nonchalantly. 

Sansa frowns, confused. There are so many things wrong about that sentence she doesn’t know where to start. “Porn?” 

“They found… magazines.” Margaery waves her hand. “Very old school, if you ask me. But I guess this is going to be life now.” 

“Wow…” Sansa winces and sits on the bed, thinking that she looked too vulnerable lying down. “Too much information, by the way.” 

Margaery laughs and shrugs, then she goes and sit where Sansa’s feet had been a few seconds before, no matter if she hadn’t been invited or not. And she hadn’t been. Not at all. 

“It’ll be good for them. They seem… tense.” Margaery keeps going and Sansa groans. 

“I’d rather not talk about my brothers’ sexual needs, please.” 

“More like sexual _release_. I bet what they really need aren’t a few old magazines.”

Sansa makes a disgusted noise. “Gross. So gross.”

Even if she was kind of annoyed that her “doing nothing” had been interrupted, Sansa’s surprised to see that now… she’s not. Not really. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re safe, or that Margaery’s topic of choice isn’t about her (because wow, she likes to get personal!) maybe it’s a mix of all those things. Either way, talking to Margaery just got a whole lot easier. 

“Do you think some kid or husband left the magazines here hoping that they wouldn’t be found by their family? Or do you think that they left them here on purpose, hoping that survivors would have some porn?” Margaery muses, looking at the wall in front of her. 

Sansa shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m not asking what happened, Sansa. I’m asking what you think happened.” 

Okay, she can do this. She’s used to doing this kind of thing, she can imagine stuff. “I think… they left them here for posterity.” 

Margaery smiles and seems genuinely surprised about getting an answers. Hmm. Maybe Sansa hadn’t been the most talkative person since she arrived. 

“I think you might be right.” Margaery says. “I bet they were like… if the world gets messed up, at least the survivors will have something worth living for!” 

She laughs and Sansa rolls her eyes, although she finds the comment amusing. Specially if it had turned out to be true. It’s not like they’ll ever know, but it’s a funny thought. 

“It’s nice talking to you when you’re not being…” 

A bitch, Sansa finishes in her head. 

“Cranky.” 

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” Sansa mutters. 

“It _really_ is.” Margaery laughs, again. But for once, it doesn’t bother Sansa. “Now, seriously… we don’t have to be best friends forever, I just… it’s been a long time since I’ve been around a girl that’s kind of my age, more or less. It feels nice, in a way.” 

That triggers something in Sansa’s brain and she asks without giving it a second thought. “How old are you, Margaery?” 

“Around… twenty seven? Or twenty eight. Who knows, nowadays.” Margaery shakes her head. “I miss calendars.” 

“I think I’m twenty four.” She says, almost absentmindedly. It feels weird saying it out loud. It used to be one of the most normal things that people asked about, or talked about… but now it’s completely irrelevant. It’s strange to be discussing something as trivial as that. 

Margaery snorts, which causes Sansa to arch an eyebrow. “What?” 

“See, I told you I’d get to have a conversation with you.” 

“Don’t push your luck.” She says, smiling despite her efforts. 

“Ah, and a smile! Must be my lucky day.” 

“Ugh, shut up.” Sansa, yet again, fails to control her face. _Damn you, Margaery._

————— ————— 

She feels clean. Really, really clean. There was a bath, it wasn’t fancy or anything… but who cares about fancy? As long as she could fill it with water and get in, that was more than enough. One can’t be picky after the zombie apocalypse, nope. The water, obviously, was kind of cold, but she didn’t care. She made lots of foam and bubbles with the soap until she stopped feeling her fingers and toes. She figured it was the cue for her to get out and get dry. 

When she returns to the room, thinking that she feels like people used to feel back when they went to SPAs and stuff, Margaery’s reading something on her bed. _Could be porn!_ she thinks, and then she frowns when she realizes what her brain just did. She doesn’t think it’s okay to imagine Margaery looking at porn. It’s a very unnecessary thought and she doesn’t approve. 

Sansa’s already dressed with what would have been someone else’s PJs that now it’s hers. It’s weird to think about how that bunker was built for a family that most likely didn’t survive. So much trouble for what? She’s glad, though, that they can enjoy the place… better than everything getting wasted, isn’t it? They’re giving the place a purpose. 

“You smell so good. Was that soap the bathroom?” 

Sansa stares for a couple of seconds before she realizes that Margaery just asked her a question. 

“Berries bottle, I think.” 

“Gods, we need to take that with us.” 

Sansa shrugs awkwardly. What is she supposed to say, really?

Bran’s voice puts an end to Sansa’s misery. “Lunch’s ready!” 

She lets out a sigh of relief she didn’t know she was holding. There’s nothing like the sound of that to make her go back to normal. 

“Tell them I’ll be ready in a minute.” 

Subtle, Sansa. 

————— ————— 

They spend the next couple of days in the underground complex. There are board games, reading material (that’s not porn) and they have plenty of food and drinks. It’s basically paradise… except it didn’t have any music, which is too bad but… there’s nothing to be done about that. Sadly they know that all good things come to an end and Sansa’s the one that suggest leaving the third day they’ve been there.

She studies the maps with Bran. White Harbor looks so close yet feels so far away. It’s crazy the amount of detours they have to take in order not to go through cities or even small towns. But that’s life now. They’d rather not risk it just to get there one day early. 

Sansa wonders many times about what path Arya took when she left, and how it was to be alone in a world so crazy and dangerous. Every time she imagines her sister in the dark of the night, all by herself, no one to protect her or watch her while she sleeps she gets slightly anxious. Her family should have been there with her. There isn’t a day where Sansa doesn’t regret vetoing the decision of not going to White Harbor. If Arya wanted it so badly, why couldn’t she say yes? It was stupid. She was stupid. It’s not like it’s less dangerous to stay in one place, after all. 

It’s one of those days where Sansa doesn’t talk to any of her brothers nor Margaery, so the fact that they’ve decided to start walking again feels good. At least she can walk a few meters ahead of them without seeing their exchange of worried looks, because she knows that’s what they’ll do. She’s been there before, she’s looked at Rickon wondering if he knows why Bran’s behaving like that, or shrugging when Rickon’s in one of his crazy moods that neither Bran nor her can fully understand. But now? She just wants to be left alone with her dark thoughts, she wants to feel the whole weight of the decision she made, the one that led Arya to flee, to be alone. She needs it. 

————— ————— 

“I want a shower.” Margaery announces one day, just a couple after they’ve reached the shelter.

And it’s the eleventh day that she’s been with them, for that matter. 

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it’s —“ 

“Keep the sarcasm to yourself, Sansa.” She cuts her off before Sansa has time to say what she was going to say. “I just want some water. I’m not asking for much, am I?” 

She stares at Margaery feeling kind of hurt. Is it the first time she’s talked back to her? Because Sansa doesn’t recall that happening before. It’s weird and she tries to shake off the feeling. 

“Guess not.” Sansa says, finally.

“There’s supposed to be some river a few miles from here in that direction.” Bran points somewhere to their right. “It’s the closest thing we have right now and we wouldn’t be going off our way too much.” 

Sansa thinks about it for a second. If Bran says that it’s that close, she believes it. He’s the one in charge of the maps, studying them every night. It’s a good thing he always liked Geography, it’s coming really handy. If Sansa’s being honest, Bran is the only one of them that should be protected at all costs. How hadn’t she realized until that moment? Maybe he should be the one in charge of the gun… that way he’d be safer than Rickon and her. He has the knowledge, and not just about maps. He was the “nerd” who grabbed the books instead of the food when everything happened, books that taught him what they could eat from the land and what they couldn’t, how to start a fire, how to tie knots in order to build provisional shelters, and so many more things… Of course, by now Sansa and Rickon know a few things themselves, but it’s nothing compared to what he has to offer.

Margaery’s hand on her arm interrupts her train of thoughts. She’s looking at her with that hopeful look on her face. 

“Please?” 

“Yeah, why not. I guess we could camp next to the river. There must be some empty cabins or something.” 

Margaery claps her hands. “Victory!” 

They’ve been doing pretty good lately and since they’re so far off into the country, where not so many many humans lived before, zombies seem to know that they won’t find much food there. Maybe it’ll be different near the river, if there are cabins and stuff… but there’s only one way to find out. She wonders if they did well leaving the refuge so early. They could have spent a few more days then, it was a good break, they didn’t have to worry about anything, they had more food and drinks than they ever did before… but at the same time it was pointless. She needed to find Arya. They wouldn’t find her in some underground refuge lost in the middle of the country.

_Arya’s dead._ She hushes the voice in her brain, the one that tells her that there’s no way that her sister survived such a long trip and all by herself. But the damage is done. She feels like she can’t breathe. 

“Is everything okay?” Bran’s whisper surprises her, she didn’t even notice his approach. 

She shrugs. “I guess.” 

“You have tears in your eyes.” 

“I do not.” She blinks hard, like she’s trying to prove a point. Bad choice, because then a single tear rolls down her cheek. “Fuck.” 

He tries to be subtle when he gestures towards Rickon and Margaery to keep walking, but she sees him do it (and she loves him for that, for trying). She hears Rickon and Margaery start walking again, talking about something pointless probably. 

Bran’s pitying her, she can see it in his eyes. “Is it about Arya?” 

“When is it not?”

“Sansa, we’ve been through this before.” He’s right, they have. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

She wipes other tears from her cheeks. “It was.” 

“No, it wasn’t, you didn’t tell her to leave. She chose to leave.” 

“We knew she wanted to go find him. We should have—“ 

Bran cuts her off. “We knew that she was stubborn, but not _that_ stubborn. And for gods’ sake, Sansa, we’re kids. Kids surviving zombies! It was okay not wanting to take such a risk.” 

“And still, it’s exactly what we’re doing now.” 

“For our sister.” 

“For our sister…” She whispers, nodding. 

Bran smiles. “Exactly.” 

His hug takes Sansa by surprise and she clings tightly to him for a few seconds. She might have lost part of her family, but the ones that remain are worth living for. 

“No more feeling guilty, okay? You’re keeping us together. You’ve… I don’t know what we would have done without you. And we’re going to try find her, after all.” He pats her back and then he looks at her, smiling. “Now let’s go swim!”

 

A bit later Sansa is dipping her toes on the water. She shivers. It’s freezing cold but she enjoys it, it keeps her brain busy. She can’t help but grin at the thought that in a couple of minutes she’ll be swimming in the river, it’s such a nice feeling. It won’t be as nice as the bath from a few days ago, but here the views are quite impressive. Green and yellow fields for as far as the eyes can reach.

Before she discards her clothes Sansa looks around. It’s amusing how the only thing that worries her now are zombies, not people. A few years ago she would have refused to skinny dip anywhere in case anyone saw her, but now she’s just scared about getting eaten by fucking zombies. Okay, maybe the thought isn’t amusing, but it’s certainly… strange. How things change. 

The water laps at her legs and it’s so cold she questions the decision of going in. In the end, she decides to be brave and she doesn’t stop until she’s able to dive in. For a few seconds, she can’t breathe. It’s too cold and her lungs refuse to work out of sheer shock, she thinks. Her head comes out of the water and she gasps loudly. Fuck, why didn’t she listen to herself? She keeps moving, though, she knows the theory, she shouldn’t stop moving… and after a couple of minutes she finally feels comfortable enough with the new temperature. She dives again and the feeling is amazing, it was all worth it. 

Sansa swims around closing her eyes from time to time, although only for a few seconds (you never know). It’s during one of those moments when she hears the sound of branches breaking under someone or something’s foot. Her eyes dart open and she stills in the water. 

She lets out a loud sigh when she sees that it’s just Margaery. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sansa hopes that she can blame how high her voice is for the coldness of the water and not the awkwardness she feels and also how scared she is. What if it had been a zombie?! 

“I wanted to take a bath.” She answers, simply. 

“And we decided to take turns.” Sansa hisses. 

“And _I_ decided to skip them altogether.” Margaery smirks while she unlaces her boots. “Getting naked in front of your horny brothers is probably a terrible idea, no offense.” 

“None taken.” Sansa kind of understands that. “But what makes you think that getting naked in front of me isn’t?” 

Margaery freezes and turns to her, arching an eyebrow and smirking. “My, my… you’re full of surprises, Sansa Stark.” 

Sansa blushes. Hard. She didn’t mean it like that _at all_. But now it’s in her head and… damn. Hot damn. She turns away not wanting to look at Margaery while she gets undressed. She knows the moment she gets in the water when she hears the splash and her gasp. Sansa curses under her breath. 

“Shit, it’s cold.” 

Sansa’s brain working on its own, zero control. _I can think of a few ways to keep you warm_. What? She panics internally and clenches her jaw. This can’t be happening. No. Fuck no, she’s not going to allow it. She can’t be the one crushing in Margaery. No. She just can’t.

“Too cold for me.” Sansa says, lying. “I’m going out.” 

She doesn’t look at Margaery, not once. And the worst part? She wants to look. Sansa rushes towards her things and flees the scene before she does or thinks more stupid things. 

————— ————— 

Twelve days. She used to wonder when Margaery would leave. Now Sansa isn’t sure she wants that to happen at all. She wouldn’t admit that to anyone, that’s for sure, but she appreciates the company in quite a few ways. Since the bunker and the river incident, Sansa’s been feeling a lot less infuriated when it came to Margaery. It’s funny, because she’s less annoyed with the other girl and more annoyed at herself. Turns out, she’s the one being an idiot, not her brothers. At least, she thinks, she doesn’t show it like they did. 

Talking about her brothers, she doesn’t know who had the crazy idea, but she could probably make a wild guess. 

“So, hey, do you mind if the two of us head towards those buildings, see what we can find?” Bran asks. 

“Alone?” Sansa frowns. 

“Yeah. There’s no need to risk us all. And if we find shelter… we’ll come back for you two. If not, we’ll come back empty handed.” Rickon shows Sansa his best smile. 

There are so many things wrong with that scenario, but she also knows that sometimes it’s better to go with less people to unknown places so they won’t be too loud. Ugh, decisions. 

“Come on, Sans.” Bran says. “It’s going to be okay. Worst case scenario? We kill one or two zombies. That’s the most we’re going to find.” 

“Okay.” She says, unsure. “If that’s what you want… We’ll wait.” 

The boys smile at each other, like they just won a secret prize or something. They leave their bags behind and take just their weapons. It’s going to be okay, Sansa thinks. They’re experienced. They won’t take risks. Sansa turns to look at her brothers walking away and she winces when a bolt of pain shots through her neck. 

“Fuck.” 

“What?” Margaery’s alarmed voice. 

“Nothing.” 

“You said _fuck_. What’s wrong?” 

“I know what I said. But n—“ Sansa shuts her mouth. She knows Margaery by now, at least a little bit. And she knows Margaery won’t stop questioning her until she’s confessed. So what’s the point, really? “My neck hurts.” 

“Sleeping on the floor might not be the most appropriate thing after all, huh?” 

Sansa glares at her, but then her expression softens and she shrugs, which isn’t such a good idea because the pain shocks her again. “I guess not.” 

She doesn’t even know how it happens, the only thing she knows is that suddenly Margery’s sitting behind her and her hands, to Sansa’s surprise, start caressing her neck. Sansa tries to turn to question Margaery, but the other girl shushes her and forces her to keep her head straight. 

“I’m good at massages.” 

_Of course she fucking is._

Margaery’s fingers start massaging the lower part of her neck, rubbing in circular motions at first, then up and down. Sansa sighs loudly. Honestly? It feels good. Really, really good. She closes he eyes and lets the sensations take over her. Margaery’s fingers are firm but gentle, and it just feels so amazing. She doesn’t know if it’s because of the massage itself or because of the person who’s giving it, although she doesn’t want to think about that much. Margaery’s nails scrape her neck, her scalp… and she has to fight the urge to let out a moan. She won’t give Margaery the pleasure to know that it’s one of her weak points. 

Then her eyes dart open, her whole body getting tense. Fucking zombies, there’s no rest for the survivors. 

“What?” 

“Zombies.” The word’s enough explanation. 

“Relax. I’m keeping an eye out, don’t worry.” Her voice is so soft… why is it soft? _Go back to normal, Margaery._

The voice that not long ago had told Sansa not to trust this girl… well, that voice is long gone. She gives a slight nod and then closes her eyes again. So be it. If she’s going to be killed by zombies, this is the way to go. 

She doesn’t know how long Margaery’s there rubbing and kneading her neck, her shoulders and even her back… but when her hands suddenly give a gentle squeeze and break the contact, Sansa feels like she’s missing them already. She turns, noticing instantly that her neck isn’t as stiff as it was before. The pain is still there, but it’s fainter. She stares at Margaery, wondering how to thank her for that. 

“That… yeah. It was nice.” Hells no. She better not be blushing. “Thanks.” 

“No problem, Sansa.” 

They look at each other for more time than it’s strictly necessary. There’s this thing happening where Sansa feels like she should say something, if only she knew what… But then she hears noises and her brain (thank gods!) goes back to the default setting of “danger, zombies!”. 

Sansa gets up, her eyes quickly scanning the place to locate her bat until Margaery grabs her arm and she hears her gasp. Sansa turns to see what’s wrong and then…

“What the—“ 

What Sansa sees then makes her panic more than any zombies could have made her feel. It’s the kind of thing that she has nightmares about. Bran walks slowly towards them, holding Rickon with his arm. Rickon, whose face looks all messed up and is limping and… gods, she sees blood everywhere. Sansa runs towards them, the world’s suddenly just her and her brothers. The rest is forgotten.

“What happened?!” 

Sansa wants to hug Rickon, caress his face and make sure that he’s okay. Just like when they were kids and he fell in the playground and she’d hug him until he stopped crying. Of course, she won’t do that now… he’d tell her to go fuck off, probably, even if he’s badly hurt. 

She glances at Bran, because Rickon doesn’t look like she’s going to give her any response. He’s whining and cursing under his breath. 

“The ceiling collapsed on us. Well… on him.” Bran looks so guilty that Sansa wants to hug him and tell him it’ll be okay, even if she doesn’t know for sure. “I was distracted by some plants outside and…” 

Rickon whimpers as he sits on the floor. Margaery kneels next to him, the bag of medical supplies already on her hands. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Sansa pats Bran’s back as she sees Margaery start working. “If this would have happened to both of you, then what? We might have not found out until much later.” 

“Fuck this.” Rickon hisses between his teeth as Margaery pours some alcohol on a wound on his forehead. “Fucking house!” 

Sansa gives him a weak smile. “Hey, at least there weren’t zombies.” 

Rickon laughs, a bitter sound that makes Sansa know instantly that there were indeed zombies inside. Fuck it, why does she even talk sometimes? 

“There was one. That’s why I crashed against the wall, I was trying to… ugh, who cares now. The rest is history. I think I broke something.” 

“Shut up, you idiot.” Bran’s joke earns a laugh from Rickon, but he still looks filled with guilt. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to find somewhere safe to spend the night? Or should we camp here?” Sansa asks, she hates to bring the question up, but it’s something that they need to figure out before it gets dark. 

She doesn’t like the thought of sleeping in the open. They’ve done it before but it’s dangerous. And if there was a zombie in that place, there might be more nearby. The sound probably alerted them, “hey, guys! There’s something going on over there! Dinner time!”. 

“I don’t think we should make him walk.” Margaery says. Sansa doesn’t like the sound of it. Is she badly injured?

“I can walk.” Rickon defends himself. 

Margaery glares at him. “I know you can, but that doesn’t mean you should. There’s a difference, smartass.” 

In the end, they listen to Margaery. They get ready for the long night ahead. At least they’ll get some light from the moon, the sky is clear and it doesn’t look like it’ll change in the upcoming hours. That’s going to be good for them. 

After they’ve “built” camp Bran sits with Rickon, giving him some conversation while Margaery’s trying to fix the zipper of her bag. It’s the perfect moment to approach her. Sansa does it nonchalantly, like she’s not at all bothered by it. 

“Hey.” 

Margaery looks at her for a second. “Hey yourself.” 

Sansa stares awkwardly, biting the inside of her cheek while wondering how to bring up the subject. 

“What do you need, Sansa?” 

It’s annoying that Margaery’s right asking that question. Sansa wishes she didn’t know her that well. Is she that transparent? 

“Do you think you could take Rickon’s shift tonight?” 

Margaery’s fingers stop moving and her eyes meet Sansa’s. She’s visibly surprised. Like that was something that she wasn’t expecting, at all. Sure enough, Sansa would have never asked if the accident hand’t happened. 

“Sure.” 

“Really?” She wants to make sure it’s something that Margaery’s okay with. 

“Of course. I mean, he should rest. His head…” 

“Yeah, I know. And, well… You can take the last shift. It’s the best one because it won’t be completely dark by the end of it.” 

“Thank you.” 

“No.” Sansa shakes her head. “Thank you.” 

She doesn’t wait for Margaery to reply, she just leaves because it’s too much. A lot’s happening in too little time and she can’t take it. _Why must you be so fucking awkward, Sansa? Why can’t you just talk normally to her!?_

————— ————— 

Thirteen days with Margaery… but who’s counting? Not her. Definitely not her. Because wow, that’d be embarrassing. Or… are people still allowed to have crushes even after the zombie apocalypse? She wonders about this for a couple of minutes, realizing that yeah, people must be able to feel things for other human beings, otherwise the human species is doomed. No new babies and that stuff. Of course, it’s not like her crush could get her anywhere, at least not when it comes to babies. Ugh. The fuck is she thinking? She shakes her head, like that would make her forget what’s going on in her head. But of course, it can’t be that easy. 

Then she’s startled by a loud groan coming from her brother. 

“Some days, it just looks like we’re pilgrimaging.” Bran says, and Sansa can tell that it’s one of those days where he suffers from extreme boredom. “Can it be over already?” 

“Let’s hope it stays like that…” Sansa mutters. 

Next to her, Margaery nods in agreement. Rickon shrugs… then winces. His injuries are healing well, but he’s still in some pain. That’s why they had to divide his things between the rest of them, the reason they’ve been walking way slower than they’re used to. 

“Hey, do you see that?” Rickon points with his head towards a tiny group of buildings in the distance. Really far in the distance. 

“What about it?” 

“Doesn’t it look like a tower or something?” 

The four of them stop for a second, like the image is about to get clearer if they stop… but it doesn’t and they can’t quite figure it out. 

“Vantage point. Worth checking out?” 

Margaery tenses next to Sansa. She’s probably worried about the prospect of having zombies close, once again. Sansa looks at her and gives her a kind of smile and a shrug. She hopes it comes out as a “don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” If not, well, fuck it. She’s not supposed to be feeling sorry about this girl. She should be a badass like she was before. Unless thinking you’re a badass makes you not be one. Whatever, it’s too complicated and Sansa has other priorities. 

“Why not?” She says, happy that her thoughts, although complicated, only took her a second to process. At least she doesn’t look as stupid as she is feeling. 

“Do you think we’ll get there before it gets dark?” Margaery looks at them, brows furrowed. 

It’s an honest question. With Rickon kind of injured they might not be quite there when it gets dark and then they’d be fucked up. 

“If we hurry…” Bran nods, but it doesn’t sound too convincing. 

“Then what the hells are we doing standing here?” Sansa grins. “Let’s go get ourselves a tower.”

They reach the building when the sun’s setting. It’s not completely dark, but almost. Sansa’s extremely happy about the fact that they didn’t have to use their flashlights. Nothing screams “dinner!” to zombies like flashlights moving in the dark of the night. 

It turns out that the tower isn’t quite a tower. It’s more like a tall building in the middle of a big nothing. Maybe it was some kind of warehouse, luckily it doesn’t have windows in the lower part, which means that if the inside is clean, they should be quite protected from zombies. Unless they learn how to make zombie towers… which they can’t make, as far as she’s seen. World War Z? Totally sci-fi. 

There are graffiti on the wall. Sansa stops for a second to take a look at them. The words sound rich in her head, and when she reads them in silence they feel like an oath. “Night gathers and so my watch begins. It shall not end until my death.” says the closest one to them. How charming. And creepy. Mostly creepy. 

By the time she hears the sound it’s too late. Too fucking late. When they turn she sees this big white husky-kind-of-dog staring right at them with hungry red eyes and some teeth that look like they could kill them in a split second. Damn it! The growl the animal makes sends shivers all through Sansa’s body… but’s that nothing compared to what the new voice that comes from behind them makes her feel. 

“What have you found, Ghost?” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuuuuuuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if any of you remembers this fic, but... I'm working on it again. My zombie!muse left and I just couldn't write. But it's back for the moment! I'll take what I can get. 
> 
> I tried to check for mistakes, but I bet I missed something... so let me know if you see something that makes you go all "MY EYES!!!" Phoebe style ;D


	3. Chapter III

_“What have you found, Ghost?” _The words echo in Sansa’s head. She knows it instantly, they’re fucked. She turns around to face the owner of the voice that scared the hell out of them. Or, well, she can’t speak for the rest of her group, not really, but she can only assume that it’s their reaction as well.__

__Sansa holds the bat tightly in her hands, she focuses on not showing her nervousness to the stranger. It looks like he is pretty strong, although kind of short for being a guy. His face is somber, his black wavy hair falls messily almost to his shoulders and he has dense beard that, added to the rest of the look, makes him look kind of wild._ _

__It’s been too long since they’ve had to fight people, actual people, not we-used-to-be-alive people. If there’s something worse than having to fight zombies… it’s definitely, _definitely_ , fighting someone who’s alive. The dog, well, the dog doesn’t bother Sansa much despite its gigantic size. People are worse than dogs, nowadays. So no matter how creepy the animal is, the man who stands in front of them, pointing his gun at Rickon is way, way scarier. _ _

__A few tense seconds pass before he speaks, his voice soft but deep. A sound that sends shivers through Sansa’s spine. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”_ _

__“We’re not looking for trouble. Just for a place to stay before it got too dark.” Bran answers promptly in his friendliest voice._ _

__It’s a good thing that he’s the one doing the talking, Bran’s clearly the most suitable one for the task. He’s the gentlest, the nicest._ _

__The guy tilts his head. “That just answers one out of two questions.”_ _

__Bran glances nervously towards Sansa, but he recovers pretty quickly. “I’m Bran. And these are my siblings, Sansa and Rickon. She’s Margaery, who’s been traveling with us for a few weeks now. We’re looking for someone. A girl. Our other sister.”_ _

__His dark eyes stare at each one of them for a few seconds. Sansa wonders what he’s thinking about, and even after he has focused on someone else, Sansa can feel the dog’s eyes on her. The queasiness never ceases._ _

__“What’s your sister’s name?” He asks, finally._ _

__“Arya. Arya Stark.” Sansa says before Bran can answer. Suddenly, she’s wondering if her sister ever stood in the same spot that they did, if she was as scared as they are. There’s a sense of urgency in her words. “She’s this tall. With short, dark hair. A smart ass. She was travelling alone when we got separated.”_ _

__She’s talked too much, she realizes. The guy takes his time, a couple of seconds that feel like an hour to her, and probably to her brothers too. Her heartbeat is fast, “omg zombies” kind of fast, Sansa holds her breath before her hope crumbles down once again the moment he shakes his head._ _

__“No, I’m sorry. Haven’t seen her around.”_ _

__It feels like a punch in the stomach, damn hope. No matter how many times she tells herself not to have any, there’s still a part of Sansa that will always believe that Arya’s okay, that they’ll find each other and that what’s left of her family will be reunited again. But truthfully, of all the places in the world where Arya could have ended up, thinking that she would have stood where they stand now… well yeah, that’s too far fetched, even for hope._ _

__The stranger clears his throat. In that moment, Sansa sees something in the way that he stands as if he’s not one hundred percent comfortable in that position. Maybe… maybe he’s not such a bad guy, Sansa thinks. Maybe they’ll live, after all._ _

__“You have a choice to make now.” There’s decision in his voice, and Sansa knows that he’ll follow through with whatever he decides to do. “Surrender all your weapons and come in… or keep them, turn around and walk away.”_ _

__A choice. Sansa can’t help but smile. She didn’t think they’d have one. This keeps getting better (and that’s not saying much, considering they’re still in clear disadvantage)._ _

__“We’ll get them back, right?” Rickon hesitates. Of course he chooses that moment to speak up, when it’s about fucking weapons. _Gods, Rickon.__ _

__When the guy replies, he shows a somber look on his face. “I’m many things, but a thief is not one of them.”_ _

__Sansa thinks for a second. She knows that it’s too late for them to leave, that they have nowhere else to go. Although the stranger gave them a choice, they all know there isn’t one, not really. Of course they can keep going, the moon, although isn’t full, can provide enough light to let them walk for a few more hours. But who is she kidding? They’re all exhausted. They need to rest at some point. And there’s also something she sees on his face, something that makes her believe that it’s going to be okay._ _

__She’s learned that, from time to time, she’s got to trust her gut. _That’s_ why she gives him her bat. And then her knife. And the other knife. And the gun that she keeps in her backpack just in case. The rest of the group mimic her actions, some more willingly than others. _ _

__Sansa feels strange, she’s never been without a weapon, not since everything started. He might as well had asked them to undress, that’s exactly how she feels. Yet she walks in the building when he moves out of the way to let them in, defenseless and… willingly._ _

__Her first impression is not a good impression. It’s one of the weirdest building she’s seen, she doesn’t even know where to begin. Although it’s dimly lit, she can only see stairs. No rooms or anything, just walls and stairs._ _

__“What is this place?” She whispers._ _

__The dog walks past her and its fur touches her leg. Sansa moves away, accidentally bumping into Rickon, who shoots her an annoyed look. But whatever, the dog’s just creepy, she doesn’t want to be close to it._ _

__Behind them, the guy closes the heavy door. Three different locks, and their keys all end up hanging on a string that the guy has around his neck. If they had to escape, getting through that door would be difficult. They would have to either kill him or stun him… but the dog would be an issue. And by issue she means another living being that they’d have to kill. She’s not okay with that course of action, but they’re survivors, they’ll survive this too, whatever the cost may be. After all this time, after all they’ve been through… it can’t end up like this. Nevertheless, Sansa hopes that it won’t come to that._ _

__When the guy starts walking again, he gestures them to follow him. “I’m Jon, by the way.”_ _

__Sansa’s glad to be able to give him a name, “the guy” was getting old pretty fast._ _

__“Is this a firefighter tower?” Bran asks, looking around._ _

__“Yes, it is. You entered the building through the training tower.” Jon explains, and Sansa sees that he’s pleased Bran knows what it is. “But you’re about to enter the actual fire station.”_ _

__They arrive at another door, with just one lock this time. It was right in front of the entrance, but Sansa hadn’t noticed when they had first entered._ _

__“Clever…”_ _

__It only takes Sansa the few minutes in which Jon shows them around to realize that he’s nicer than he appeared when they met him. Shocking, a first impression being wrong… But she had been right about him, in a way, and that pleases Sansa more than she’d like to admit. Besides, the fact that nice and decent people still exist in the world makes her think that, maybe, there’s still hope for what’s left of the human population. The worst part, though? That even if she’s trying not to think about it, she can’t stop playing with the idea of getting their weapons back. As he shows them around, she’s planning how to get them back in case they need to, and some of those scenarios end up with Jon getting killed or badly injured. Fucking apocalypse, destroying good intentions. That’s why decent people don’t exist anymore, they always end up getting killed by either zombies or people like that— no, by people like them._ _

__Margaery’s walking silently besides her, taking everything in. Since they arrived, she hasn’t been more than two feet away from Sansa. All of a sudden, and quite unexpectedly, too, Sansa feels the urge to take her hand to make her feel better, she’s probably nervous about all these new things. Sansa chastises herself for even having these thoughts. She’d never act on them, but the fact that they appear… what is she thinking?_ _

__They climb some stairs and he shows them where they can sleep._ _

__“Where are you headed?” Jon asks, as he waits for them to leave their bags in the rooms they’ve been assigned to. He kindly asked them to empty them… to check, again, if they had any remaining weapons. She gives him a point for good survival instincts._ _

__“White Harbor.” Bran answers, truthfully._ _

__Sansa glares at him, taking away one survival point from his score. He should have lied, come on!_ _

__“It’s a difficult path.” Jon hums._ _

__“The ones we’ve already taken weren’t exactly a walk in the park.” Sansa says, slowly, while her eyes stare right into Jon’s._ _

__“You’re right…” He concedes, before a small smile appears in his face. “We were about to eat something, care to join us?”_ _

___We_. The first mention of other people. It was expected, though, the building seemed too excessive for a one-man operation. He guides them downstairs, where they meet Jon’s partner in crime (as he presents himself), Sam. Big boy, too happy. Made Sansa wonder if he was really part of the zombie apocalypse because no one should be that happy while fighting the undead. Of course, maybe that’s her own personal experience, who knows. Sansa likes him nevertheless, he’s honest looking. And just because he’s happy and she isn’t, it doesn’t mean that his attitude is wrong. Therapy, that’s what Sansa would need. But psychologist are scarce nowadays. Maybe they’re all zombies now, since they were so much into brains before everything had started. _ _

__They help setting the table, the normalcy of the action unsettles Sansa. But she forgets about it when a few minutes later they’re all sitting around the table, eating a bowl of mashed potatoes with other vegetables. A few years ago she would have complained about that food, she’d like her vegetables cold, in a salad preferably… but the moment she takes a spoonful of that, she moans. Margaery looks at her with a strange expression, Sansa just shrugs._ _

__It’s easy for Sansa to notice that Margaery looks relieved to be there, surrounded by people in a well-guarded building. Hells, her brothers have probably noticed it too. She hasn’t said much, not since they arrived, but it’s clear that she’s happy they decided to stay. It’s one of the things Sansa has learnt after spending a few weeks watching over her while she slept (as creepy as it sounds). She sleeps more peacefully when she’s sheltered. But who can blame her, really. Sansa is too. It’s easier to keep her family safe that way._ _

__“We were friends before all this started,” Sam explains while he eats a spoonful of the mashed vegetables “We were the kind of nerds who joked about the possibility of a zombie apocalypse, before this happened.”_ _

__“Sam… I don’t think they need to hear _that_ part.” Jon says, his tone serious but his eyes saying something different. _ _

__“Don’t worry, this one here” Rickon points at Bran with his thumb. “is one of those too.”_ _

__“Whatever. I saved your asses more times than your little brain can count.”_ _

__“Enough, you two.” Sansa warns, her tone becoming motherlike and annoyed._ _

__“Anyway, choosing the fire station was just… an obvious choice.” Sam decides not to pay any attention to Bran and Rickon’s quarrel. “We had to make minor adjustments, but other than that…”_ _

__“When he says minor he means that we had to brick up a lot of windows and entrances, it took us weeks to get all the supplies up here.” Quips Jon._ _

__Sam grins. “It would have been fun if it hadn’t been terrifying. What’s good about this fire station was built in a rural area. There used to be a lot of farms and factories around, those don’t exist anymore, but the surroundings aren’t cluttered. We can see zombies before they sniff us.”_ _

__Sansa listens intently. Their story is quite different from her own, they holed up from the very beginning. Maybe if her family had decided to hide instead of going from place to place looking for a zombie free place that never existed… maybe their story would have ended differently. There’s no point on thinking that now, she just can’t help it._ _

__

__When it’s time to sleep, Jon warns them about Ghost (a ver appropriate name for the white dog) and his habit of roaming the hallways. Sansa wonders if that’s his way of saying “don’t try anything stupid tonight”. By then, though, she knows better than to plot anything. Sansa has decided to trust these two guys. Although she still wants her group to be extra careful._ _

__Bran and Rickon got assigned in a cubicle a few doors away from Sansa and Margaery’s, they’ll be able to fight and insult each other without Sansa noticing. She doesn’t know how to feel about this… but Margaery lies down on the bed she assigned herself and lets out a content sigh, distracting Sansa from her somber thoughts. Even with her clothes and face covered with dust and dirt from all the walking, even then she looks pretty. _Fucking hells.__ _

__After a minute or so Margaery opens her eyes once again. Sansa looks away, but it’s too late, Margaery saw her staring._ _

__“Are you going to spend the night watching over?” Margaery asks._ _

__Sansa shrugs, not bothering answering any other way._ _

__“You should rest, Sansa. We’re going to be safe here.”_ _

__“We don’t know for sure.” Sansa says, calmly._ _

__“They could have killed us already if they had wanted to. We’re unarmed, and there’s that dog…”_ _

__“I’m not taking any chances.”_ _

__Margaery lets out an annoyed sigh. “Fine… Be that way.”_ _

__Sansa wants to tell her that yes, she’s going to be that way because she’s seen people get killed for being stupidly trusty. She’s not about to make that same mistake, no. She knows that no matter how friendly they look, one shouldn’t trust them. And that’s how you get to live, at the end of the day. That’s all she wants, after all. To live. But she doesn’t say anything and Margaery turns to face the wall instead of her. Something inside Sansa twitches. She went from not caring about what Margaery thought to feeling guilty for upsetting her. She wants to make her understand, yet she doesn’t know how._ _

__“Night.” She whispers._ _

__As an answer she gets silence. A thick, dense silence._ _

__————— —————_ _

__When Sansa wakes up, it takes her a couple of seconds to realize where she is, what is happening. She stands up and stumbles slightly. Waking up like that is not something she’s good at, no matter how much practice she’s had in the previous years. She can do it, she _has_ to, but it doesn’t mean that she’s fully conscious when it happens. _ _

__“Shit.”_ _

__Even if she has just woken up, the fact that she’s alone in a room where Margaery should have been doesn’t get lost on her. Sansa puts hurries outside and tries to remember where things were in the building. The room where Rickon and Bran slept is empty too. The moment she remembers where the day room is located, she runs. She runs and she prays to the old gods, the new gods or whoever might be listening, for her family and Margaery to be there._ _

__And then she hears laughter. She stops right in her tracks. She wasn’t expecting that sound, of all the things that her brain was telling her that might be happening… hearing them laugh wasn’t one of them. That’s one thing that the end of the world did to her, if she has to jump to conclusions she’ll always pick the bad scenario._ _

__She recognizes Bran and Rickon’s voices, they sound happy. And she hears Margaery too. The relief is instant, and she smiles. Sansa starts walking slowly towards the room where the sounds originates, trying to delay the moment in which she gets there, she wants to listen to them for a little bit longer._ _

__“Morning, sis.” Bran smiles at her when she finally enters the room._ _

__She mumbles something as she goes and sits next to Rickon. She notices, (because how can she not?) that Margaery doesn’t look at her and she groans internally. What the hells is wrong with the girl, really? She’s not going to play the “offended teenager” game. She’s not._ _

__“Do you want some bread, Sansa?” Sam offers, a warm smile on his face._ _

__She stares at him dumbfounded. Did she just got offered bread? _Bread?__ _

__“What?” She asks, her voice croaked._ _

__Sam laughs and turns to Rickon. “You were right. Her face was priceless!”_ _

__Sansa turns to her brother. “Were you joking?!”_ _

__Rickon smirks and then throws something at her. When she looks at her hands she sees a small loaf of bread, the most beautiful and perfect loaf of bread she’s ever seen._ _

__“Nope, not a joke.”_ _

__Sam smiles at her as a light blush tints his cheeks. “It’s not the best, but it’s the best we can find in the area.”_ _

__Sansa mutters an “oh my gods” before she uses her hands to cut the bread in two smaller chunks._ _

__“You won’t happen to have any cheese, right?” She jokes, although she thinks that she might cry if they’d actually have it._ _

__“No… not cheese. But we can offer you a glass of milk.”_ _

__And that’s how Sansa ends up having the best breakfast she’s had in a while. Bread with homemade butter and a glass of fresh milk with a spoonful of expired cocoa (it’s not like they can be picky, and it still tastes wonderfully)._ _

__

__There’s no time for boredom in the tower. Although she’s sure that Jon and Sam hide some secrets (and really, it’s only natural) Sam teaches them a great deal about how they work and what they do. Jon is not around in the morning, he’s on the rooftop, guard duty. Sansa hopes she gets the opportunity to join him, she has a lot of questions that she wants to ask._ _

__They all follow Sam around, their first stop is a pretty impressive vegetable garden that they keep inside, in one of the upper floors. Margaery’s fascinated by it the moment she steps on it. She’s still not talking to Sansa, but she has no problem sharing her enthusiasm with the rest of the group._ _

__“My family used to garden.” She comments, as she touches some leaves with the most care._ _

__With that simple statement Sansa realizes how little she knows about Margaery, really. Other than she has an innate talent to annoy her._ _

__Sam lets her stay in the garden, promising to go back for her in a while. Margaery’s delighted by the news. Sansa looks at her, but the glance isn’t returned. Ugh._ _

__Time passes differently inside, it’s like they’re in this alternative universe where things aren’t as bad as they have been used to. They have food, they have a water system, a bed to sleep in and, most importantly, tasks and things to do. It’s not like when they found the underground complex where they just spent time doing nothing, talking and waiting to gather their strength back. Here in the tower they’ve got plenty of things to make themselves useful._ _

__Bran is happy to discover that Sam is a book nerd like him and he’s delighted when he enters the library, which is really impressive all things considered. Her brothers stay behind, Bran wants to do some reading and Rickon found the volumes about weapons and survival guides._ _

__“Their loss.” Sam comments. “The last stop is the coolest stop, in my opinion.”_ _

__It turns out he was right when he said those words. They had many things that impressed Sansa in the fire station. They had bread, a library but what shocked her the more were the horses. They have _horses!__ _

__Sam takes her to the stables, which is in an adjacent building, just like the training tower. It also had to go through some “minor” improvements to be horse friendly, she’s told, but the two horses that they keep lead a pretty comfortable life there._ _

__She almost lets out a whimper when she sees the two gorgeous animals standing in the furthest corner, peacefully eating hay and grass. They raise their heads to stare at Sam and her, but when they deem them harmless, they go back to their business._ _

__“How?” She asks, almost to herself. “How can you keep horses?”_ _

__“No one said we couldn’t.” Sam shrugs. “They’re obviously great for traveling between camps too, you know? Quicker and safer than walking… and less noisy than cars. They’ve been around for as long as we have.”_ _

__They don’t spend more than a few minutes there, despite Sansa’s yearn for being in contact with the animals. Ever since she was a kid, she had been obsessed with horses. Sansa loved them and her parents pampered her, granting her wish of getting horse-riding lessons every week, something she hadn’t stopped doing until the zombies arrived._ _

__It wasn’t until she saw the two animals that she realized how much she missed the horses she used to ride. _And now they’re probably dead_ , she thinks, bitterly. _ _

__“Jon wanted to see you, once we finished with the tour.” Sam guides her outside the stable and back to the main building, Sansa doesn’t complain although she would have loved to stay there for a while._ _

__Her heartbeat quickens as she approaches the stairs. While a meeting with Jon is what she wanted, she can’t stop the anxiety from spreading, not knowing what he wants from her. Every step that she takes leads Sansa closer to the man in the tower, her legs feel heavier. When she reaches the top of the stairs she realizes that Sam didn’t follow her. She’s alone._ _

__“How did you like the place?” Jon smiles when she sees her._ _

__“I liked your horses.”_ _

__He nods. “They’re good company to have around. It’s a lot of work, though.”_ _

__“I can imagine.” She stands there impatiently. What is it that he wants? “Is there any reason why you summoned me?”_ _

__He seems amused by her question, which makes Sansa frown._ _

__“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”_ _

__“I don’t see why I should.”_ _

__“Okay, let’s get to it. I’m not one to meddle in other’s affairs, but I worry when you say that you want to get to White Harbor.”_ _

__Sansa frowns. He’s worried? What’s so terrible in the path to White Harbor that has this guy worried about them?_ _

__“There’s no other way around it. We need to get there. Arya would have never stopped unless she got killed.”_ _

__He takes a deep breath. “Listen, the people running the camps here… they’re okay with me and Sam, we provide a service for them. But they’re not nice to strangers, not anymore.”_ _

__“We won’t approach them.”_ _

__“They don’t want others messing up with the system. They’ve got more than enough population to survive. They’ll find you. Hells, maybe they even know you’re already here with us.”_ _

__“So what?” Sansa asks, a bit annoyed that he’s talking to her like she’s a little girl. “We’re not as useless as you think we are. We’ve seen a lot, we’ve survived a lot.”_ _

__“I know you’re strong!” Jon sounds frustrated, which makes Sansa get more defensive in return. “And yes, you’ve survived what most wouldn’t have. It’s hard to live on your own out there, I know that even though I’ve never experienced it. But that’s also why I want you to understand that you’re about to face something extremely different, something you’re not used to. At all. It’s a new game, Sansa, and zombies won’t the biggest of your problems anymore.”_ _

__Sansa frowns, he’s right in a way. She hadn’t considered this. They know nothing about cities, or settlements, they know nothing about the new societies that people have started to build from scratch. Still, her pride gets slightly hurt by his words._ _

__“Sansa, I’m not saying you lack of what it takes to get to White Harbor… “ His voice is soft, almost like a whisper. “I’m saying that you need to be very, very careful. Because we’re not talking about a crazy survivor that attacks you and your people in the middle of the night, looking for food and weapons. These are organized groups with one thing, and only one thing in mind: survive.”_ _

__“Then we’ve got that one thing in common.”_ _

__“Good.” He pats her shoulder, making Sansa wince at the unexpected contact. “Except, you know, they will kill anyone who crosses paths with them before they ask any question.”_ _

__“And you deal with those guys?”_ _

__“I need them as much as they need me. And I pray for the situation not to change anytime soon.”_ _

__A comfortable silence sets between the two of them. Sansa thinks of all the information he just mentioned and she wonders how Arya could have survived it all, if she was by herself. Maybe she had joined one of those camps and they’ll never find her; or maybe her ninja abilities allowed her to pass undetected. As usual, there are too many hypotheses and too little answers._ _

__“Look!” Jon exclaims in a hushed tone, pointing somewhere in the horizon. “We’ve got company.”_ _

__Sansa heartbeat quickens as she sees the zombie walking aimlessly. It’s not a new feeling, it’s just the same thing that her heart does whenever she sees one of those things. The good news is that it is completely alone and it seems to be too far away to smell them because it’s not in what she calls “human flesh frenzy”._ _

__“Time to show off, Sansa. What do you say?”_ _

__Jon smirks as he talks, then he uses his head to point at his right side, where a recurved bow lies against the concrete wall._ _

__“Are you serious right now?”_ _

__“Rickon said you took bow lessons for a few years.” He sounds impressed by the information. “Show me what you’ve got.”_ _

__Sansa grins, her heart pounds faster in her chest, but now it isn’t the anxious kind of heartbeat, it’s the excited kind. It’s been such a long time since she’s held a bow, almost as long as she had been without seeing horses, funny how things can change in just one day. She lifts the weapon with as much care as possible because, to her, it is one of the most precious things she could be holding, she’s going to treat it with the respect it deserves._ _

__“It’s been a while.” She keeps smiling as she drags her fingers across its length._ _

__“Wait for him to—“_ _

__“I _know_ what I have to do.” Sansa glares at him, playfully, and he chuckles quietly. The awkwardness of their previous talk long forgotten. Zombies have been helpful for something, go figure. _ _

__It’s a couple of minutes before the zombie’s at a shooting range that Sansa’s comfortable with. She takes one arrow and places it carefully on its place, then comes the deep breath, her eyes focused on the walking corpse. She waits one second. Two seconds. Three. And then she releases the string. She follows the arrow and she knows that she’ll miss before it happens. Sansa groans and curses under her breath, she didn’t miss by much, but she missed nevertheless. She’s rusty. The zombie gets startled by the sound. It turns around with so much energy that it almost trips and falls. Sansa hisses as she puts another arrow in its place quickly, she needs to act fast if she wants them to stay undetected. Jon has the decency not to say a thing. Deep breaths. Deep breaths…_ _

__Sansa doesn’t miss the second time. The arrow goes straight through its forehead and the zombie falls to the ground. She can’t really hear the sound it makes, but her brain provides a “thud” that she thinks it’s appropriate for the situation._ _

__“Not bad… You know, for a girl.” Sansa glares at him, even though he’s just playing. “You’d make a nice addition to our group, if you didn’t have to go.”_ _

__Somehow, that’s the best compliment that she could have asked for, yet she just shrugs as if it didn’t matter. Jon rolls his eyes because he sees right through her, she hates it. Except she doesn’t, because it’s nice. _He’s_ nice. That’s, probably, the most surprising part. The most unexpected one, as well. _ _

__————— —————_ _

__That evening they eat yet another satisfying meal that makes Sansa wonder how well set the adjacent camps are, Jon and Sam are so well provided that it can only mean that the settlements are running in a normalcy that she hasn’t known since before everything started, or ended._ _

__She had spent some time with Bran in the library, but she eats dinner on the rooftop with Jon. It’s easier that way, if she doesn’t have to be around Margaery. She can focus somewhere else, somewhere useful. Keeping Jon company in the long and boring watches is something that makes her feel better._ _

__But her luck ends when she has to go to sleep. Margaery’s reading when she gets there. Both surprising and not surprisingly enough, Margaery doesn’t pay her attention. She doesn’t even look at her! Sansa clenches her jaw and moves to her bed. Lying there, she closes her eyes and tries to tell her brain that no, she’s not disappointed by the lack of interaction. She’s not._ _

__“Where do you go?” Margaery asks, all of a sudden._ _

__Sansa opens her eyes slowly, the other girl is staring at her with her head slightly tilted, the book resting on her chest._ _

__“Hm?”_ _

__“Where do you go when you’re not _here_?” _ _

__Sansa stares at Margaery as if she were speaking in Dothraki._ _

__“Sometimes it looks like you’re… somewhere else. What were you thinking about?”_ _

__Life. Death. Life again as a zombie. Crushing on our female companion. But Sansa doesn’t say a thing, it’s just too complicated to make her understand, so in the end she just shrugs._ _

__Margaery rolls her eyes. “Boring answer.”_ _

__“I didn’t say it wouldn’t be.”_ _

__The look on Margaery’s face shows that she’s not impressed by her answer, but she doesn’t say anything… so Sansa goes back to sulk. She closes her eyes and lets her thoughts take over everything._ _

__Until something hits her face._ _

__She opens her eyes alarmed only to find that she had been attacked by a flying pillow. Margaery looks smug on the other side of the room._ _

__“What the fuck?!” She says, debating whether to feel amused or offended by what just happened._ _

__“Oops.”_ _

__The smile on Margaery’s face. That gives Sansa all sort of contradictory feelings. She wants to… she wants to yell at her for keeping her distance all day, but she wants to kiss her, too, because she can’t stop thinking about it. Gods, it’s such an annoying feeling! Why can’t she live her life the way she’s been doing for the past few years? Walk, kill zombies, survive… and repeat._ _

__But there she is. There they are. And Sansa doesn’t think bringing up the reason why Margaery ignored her all day is the best way to go. After all, she’s pretending she doesn’t care._ _

__“Thanks for the extra pillow.” Sansa hugs it as she puts a really fake smile on her face, waiting for the complains._ _

__“Hey!”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Give it back.”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Sansa.”_ _

__“Margaery.”_ _

__“Give me my pillow back.”_ _

__“It’s my pillow now.”_ _

__The gleam on Margaery’s eyes makes Sansa’s heart skip a beat. Shit. “You wish.”_ _

__“If you want it, you know what to do.” Sansa shrugs, her smirk matching Margaery’s._ _

___Let’s play pretend_ , she thinks. Let’s pretend that everything’s fine. That she’s just a normal girl crushing on another, that there are no undead people trying to eat them outside and that the world isn’t a total chaos. Let’s pretend that we’re not aware of that extra bed with an extra pillow not far away from them. Yes, let’s pretend._ _

__Margaery, who had been eyeing her for a couple of seconds ends up chuckling. “That easy, huh? Just… go there, grab the pillow… and back to my bed? No traps?”_ _

__Sansa shrugs, nonchalantly. Then she waits. Margaery looks as if she’s trying to decipher what’s going on inside that brain of hers, Sansa just smiles. After what seems to be an eternity, Margaery gets up from her own bed and walks towards Sansa, eyeing the pillow in her arms. A second later she jumps forward but Sansa reacts quickly putting the pillow behind her back, and out of Margaery’s reach._ _

__The other girl huffs as she stops in front of Sansa. Close, she’s too close. But Sansa smiles because she won this round, and she wonders if her smile looks as smug as she feels it._ _

__“Really.” Margaery looks at her unfazed._ _

__“What?” Sansa puts her best good girl face._ _

__“You’re annoying.”_ _

__“You’re one to talk!” Sansa wanted to be all cool and collected, but that was just infuriating. Did Margaery just call her annoying!? “Besides, some things are worth the work, isn’t that what you told me?”_ _

__“People.” Margaery corrects. “I said some _people_ are worth the work.” _ _

__Sansa’s exhilarated and she’s not even trying to hide it, not anymore. Maybe that’s the reason why she didn’t anticipate Margaery leaping and falling on top of her. Sansa yelps and tries to get away from under Margaery, until she remembers that the only reason why Margaery’s on top of her is to retrieve the damn pillow. That marks the beginning of what Sansa calls in her mind “Operation: Keep the Pillow Safe”. She’ll guard it with her life. It’s a matter of pride. And also, maybe, a matter of how much she’s enjoying the contact. They’ve never touched as much as they’re touching in that moment… how can she give that up willingly?_ _

__When Margaery reaches for the pillow again, Sansa grabs her by the wrists, keeping her hands away from the fluffy object. She’s surprised to realize that Margaery’s stronger than she looks like. Just not as strong as Sansa, who manages to push Margaery away from her, but Sansa can see it in her eyes, she’s about to strike back._ _

__“No!” She shakes her hear, indicating the other girl that she’s not going to allow it._ _

__“It’s mine.” Margaery says, panting._ _

__And then they’re at it again. And Sansa laughs because she feels more alive than she’s felt in a while. They don’t really hurt each other, not on purpose at least, but they push and pull, and Sansa even sees Margaery trying to bite her arm. She laughs as if she were saying “really?!”. They are slightly out of breath by the time they stop fighting each other, but Margaery doesn’t move, not even a bit. Sansa sees the pillow a few centimeters away from them, but neither of them try to get it. Apparently the game changed while they were playing and, although no one told Sansa, she _gets_ it. She’s become extremely aware of all the places where Margaery’s body touches her own. _ _

__The other girl’s eyes lit up, her mouth curves into a smile. “You drive me crazy, Sansa.”_ _

__Sansa doesn’t get an opportunity to reply, yet in that moment a reply would be meaningless. They couldn’t be more cliché if they tried to, really, zombie apocalypse and all. Before she can fully process what’s going on, Margaery grabs her face and kisses her with a fierceness that doesn’t surprise Sansa, not anymore. She groans when Margaery presses her body against her own and bites her lip. If Sansa had been hyper aware of everything before, that’s multiplied by a hundred, it’s almost overwhelming. How she ended up trapped between Margaery’s arms, with said girl on top of her, she doesn’t know. She wants to fight some more, get the upper position, dominate the situation… but when she tries, Margaery’s body presses harder against her own, her hands taking Sansa’s wrists firmly. That’s when Sansa gives up, in a way. She decides that some battles aren’t worth the fight, specially when they feels so good._ _

__Sansa doesn’t question it, she won’t, not in that moment. She has plenty of days ahead, many hours and minutes to think about it and dissect every little thing that’s happening (and she’s certain she will) but in that moment she’s decided that she’ll focus exclusively on the way that Margaery kisses her neck before she bites it, and how she traces random shapes on Sansa’s stomach with her nails. She wants to focus on the way that Margaery’s wavy hair feels between her fingers, and how her lips tingle now that they’re idle._ _

__When Sansa closes her eyes she’s determined to let herself enjoy that moment. That was the plan, and that’s still the plan. It’s what she wanted, right? Why not let herself be happy? No, not happy, she doesn’t think she can feel that. But Margaery’s lips return to kiss her with such enthusiasm, she can’t help but think that she’s close to feeling something like it again._ _

__Then there’s the hunger she’s experiencing whens she’s kissing Margaery, when her teeth graze her skin, when her tongues meet and moans are exchanged, or when she traces her jawline with her lips… Sansa can’t stop and won’t stop. Strange how suddenly she’s wondering if it’s kind of like the hunger that the zombies get around people. She chuckles at the thought, because leave it to her to theorize about such things in a moment like _that_. _ _

__At some point Sansa hears something that isn’t Margaery’s ragged breath, nor her own for that matter. It takes her a second to process, but Margaery freezes too and soon they’re hurrying to disentangle from each other, getting as much space between them as possible (which isn’t too much)._ _

__“Hey, girls.” Sam smiles awkwardly. Whether he’s seen something or he’s just aware of his interruption Sansa can’t be sure of. She hopes it’s the latter, because at least he won’t know for sure. “Jon’s looking for you upstairs.”_ _

__Sansa nods, because it’s obvious that he means her. Her face shows no emotion, other than slight annoyance when she gets up from the bed and walk towards him. She doesn’t look back at Margaery, thinking that if she does, Sam will definitely figure it out. That he’ll be able to see right through her and… she can’t have that. Not yet. Not when she hasn’t got it figured out herself._ _

__The walk to the roof helps Sansa clear her mind a little bit, although her body’s still refusing to let go of what happened, she feels Margaery’s presence all over her. Nevertheless, by the time she’s reached the top of the stairs she’s trying to be positive and think that, at least, she’ll get to spend more time with Jon. There’s something soothing about his presence, and if she’s being honest, she pretty confident that he enjoys her company too. He could have chosen any of her brothers or even Margaery… yet he chose her._ _

__He’s hunched over some maps that are dimly illuminated by a small lamp when she gets there. He gestures for her to get closer._ _

__“Come, I have to show you something.”_ _

__Sansa joins him and he hands her a piece of paper and a pencil. Before she can question him about why she needs that, he starts talking. Soon she’s trying to scribble as fast as he talks about routes, paths to avoid and people they might find on their way to White Harbor. It’s overwhelming, all the information he gives her, but it’s good to keep her distracted, focused on something that’s not the other girl who’ll be doing gods know what._ _

__By the time they’re done, Sansa has not one but three paper sheets filled with notes, and she suspects that this is all Jon’s been doing since she left earlier._ _

__“You know, Bran should have been here too. He’s our maps guy.”_ _

__“This isn’t about maps, though. This is about taking the right choice when the time comes.” Jon says, his tone serious. “I trust you’ll at least consider all the things I’ve told you.”_ _

__Sansa scoffs, mildly offended. “What the fuck do you think these papers are? Doodles?”_ _

__“Hey, watch your language.” He says, smiling a little. His expressions changes back to a worried one after a second. “What about Margaery?”_ _

__Sansa’s heart skips a beat. Her lips still remember the kiss, her fingers are still warm with the memory of the girl’s skin against her own._ _

__“What about her?”_ _

__“We can take care of her.”_ _

__Sansa’s expression does the speaking for her when her eyes go round. Did he mean…? Jon starts to laugh, making her feel like she’s missed something big and she stares, expectantly._ _

__“Not like that, Sansa, gods!” He shakes his head and scratches his beard. “I meant that we can find a place for her to stay, we’ve done it before. After all, she’s not your family. We can relocate her somewhere else.”_ _

__She doesn’t find peace in the clarification, no. But at the same time, she knows that Jon’s right, Margaery’s not family and yet… she’s something. She’s important nevertheless. Sansa clenches her jaw. Her throat feels dry and she finds it hard to speak._ _

__“It’s not up to me to decide if she stays or goes.” Her voice sounds strained by the mere thought of leaving her behind._ _

__“I would say that if it’s up to someone, it’d be up to you.” He frowns, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer._ _

__Is that disappointment Sansa sees in his face? He knows nothing about Margaery, yet he’s quickly deeming her unworthy of traveling with her family? No, Sansa won’t have that._ _

__The thought of abandoning, or leaving Margaery behind (different words, same end) even if she’d be with Jon and Sam, is unbearable. Perhaps a week ago she would have said yes, or even an hour ago. It’s too late to know now… If Margaery wants to stay with them, then it’s up to her to decide it._ _

__“Ask her, if that’s what you want.”_ _

__Sansa tries to convince herself that she doesn’t care, but the truth is that she doesn’t want him to ask her. What if Margaery says yes?_ _

__She ends the conversation with a simple “I’m not going to speak for her.”_ _

__Jon drops it, noticing that it’s kind of a sore subject… and not much later, Sansa’s walking back to her room, sulking. His words keep repeating on her head. Margaery… Should Sansa make that choice for her? She’d be safe, with them. Maybe she should just ask Jon to take her, but promising that they’d keep her with them. That way, Sansa would have yet another reason to go back after they found Arya._ _

__If Margaery stayed, she… she’d understand, she’d be okay with it. Maybe not at first, but… she’d have to be, right? If she’s being honest, though, she knows that she won’t be okay with it. Not really. But she’d try hard to be, that much would be true, and she would respect Margaery’s decision if it comes down to it._ _

__It doesn’t mean that she would have to like it, though. She doesn’t._ _

__When she reaches the cubicle she’s happy to see that Margaery’s already sleeping in her own bed, the pillow they fought over nested under her head. In that moment Sansa wishes that she could go back in time, she would have sent Sam back to tell Jon that, whatever he had to say, he could tell her in the morning. But she can’t change that, just like she can’t change the effect that Jon’s suggestion had her._ _

__She moves quietly to the bed she made her own and lays down. Staring at the ceiling for a while she wonders what to do the next day. Should she tell Margaery? Should she talk to Jon first? Sansa tosses and turns for a long time, her brain won’t shut up. In the end, she’s so annoyed that she tries to think of how there are things more important than Margaery, no matter what’s going on between them. Like her sister, for example. She’s more important, if Sansa were to lose sleep it should be for something important. Sansa knows that, she really does… but there’s a difference between knowing and acting according to it._ _

__At last she’s able to doze off, listening to Margaery’s peaceful breathing. The other girl’s soothing sounds makes Sansa think that maybe things won’t have to change. Maybe… maybe. But there are too many “maybes” in her life, and perhaps her semi conscious state is to blame for her hopefulness. Had she been fully awake, she would have realized that some things, in that new world, are bound to end up in a terrible way._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After my laptop died, many months ago, with all my fics and everything... rewriting this was the hardest thing. For a while, I wasn't even sure I could keep going, because I had so much written... It's obviously different than what I had in mind the first time, some things remain, some things don't... But I'm back feeling like this is what I wanted to write. 
> 
> I'm sorry I had to keep you waiting... but I hope you can still enjoy it :) The next chapter is almost finished, originally it was going to be part of this one, but together they were like 13000 words so... yup, I split it. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, if you want!


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Sansa's more comfortable around zombies than around Margaery and feelings. Because that's who she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know if people are still around, but I've had this almost finished for a year (oh gods, I can't believe it's been that long) and I think I'm finally going to finish it, for my sake at least!

Sansa realizes that something’s wrong when she hears a voice and it doesn’t make any sense, since she’s alone in the lab. But the voice is calling her name. Where does it come from? She doesn’t recall seeing speakers, and she’s never had a walkie-talkie. If the voice’s there but no one’s around… does that mean she’s crazy? Or… is she dreaming? She’s not sure which one of the options she likes less, because neither is okay, they really aren’t. She’s just discovered a cure for the virus, it can’t possibly be a dream! But she feels a hand on her shoulder, and then there’s that intrusive voice again coming out of nowhere. _Stop_ , she thinks, _let me have this for a bit longer._

“Sansa, wake up.” 

One moment she had the cure and the next she’s keeping her eyes tightly shut, refusing to look at a world where that fantasy is nothing more than utopian. She clings to the last remnants of the dream, to the feeling of knowing that everything is going to be okay until it’s not enough. In the end the bitterness and the disappointment win the battle, leaving a bad aftertaste in her mouth. It had felt so real… 

Margaery’s calling her name again and Sansa opens one eye, just barely. The girl’s kneeling right in front of her bed, one hand still placed on her shoulder. Sansa mumbles something and she closes her eye again, frowning. 

“Sansa…” Margaery’s hand squeezes her shoulder and she groans. There’s no point on delaying the inevitable, not when Margaery’s that persuasive. She opens both eyes for a moment, just enough to let the girl know that she’s managed to piss her off first thing in the morning. Impervious to her grumpiness, she smiles. “Morning.” 

“What do you want?” It comes out raspy and bitter. Good. Margaery deserves it. 

“Breakfast is almost ready.” 

Did that just happen? She fully opens her eyes and glares at Margaery with an arched eyebrow. _Does it look like I fucking care about breakfast?_ She can’t believe it. She’s about to question Margaery’s choices when she realizes that the other girl has a tiny smile plastered on her face. Even when she’s still half asleep she knows that it doesn’t make sense. Something’s going on. 

“You need to come down, you won’t regret it. Promise.” Margaery winks an eye at her, which just fuels the fire that Sansa has inside, but she still moves out of the way, which is lucky for the girl because Sansa is more than ready to bite. And not in a fun way. 

“I already am.” She mutters, feeling extra cranky. 

Nonchalantly, Margaery ignores Sansa’s comments (she’s quite the expert) and simply continues. “You won’t be saying that when you have a hot cappuccino in your hands.” 

Now _that_ is something that Sansa doesn’t hear everyday. She turns to Margaery so fast that it’s almost comical. Her fingers tingle with anticipation, her interest piqued. 

“Coffee?” She knows her voice is a little too much high pitched when she speaks, but… a cappuccino. “Is this Rickon’s idea of a joke?” 

Margaery chuckles. “No, it’s not a joke. They’ve got real coffee… And by the way, your brothers said you’d react like this.” 

Hearing that it’s not a joke changes everything, her annoyance is quickly forgotten. The pull is so strong that Sansa almost runs to get a t-shirt from her bag, trying to set a new world record of getting dressed or something. Her brain’s stuck into “Must. Get. Coffee.” mode and she knows she won’t stop for anything. Almost anything. She freezes when she notices that Margaery’s still eyeing her with amusement. Sansa stares at her with her hand clutching the tee and and an exasperated expression on her face. A few seconds pass before Margaery realizes what’s going on, but she finally turns around raising her hands in surrender, she’s chuckling again. 

“Can’t blame me for trying…” 

Sansa rolls her eyes and ignores the comment. If Margaery can tune out her remarks, so can she. Coffee. That’s all that matters now. 

“Are you back to that “let’s not talk to Margaery” attitude of yours?” Margaery asks, surprising Sansa with her boldness and that causal attitude. Is it because they’re not face to face, or is it because Margaery’s simply like that, all the time? When Sansa doesn’t say a thing it’s exactly the answer that Margaery expects. “I suppose it means that this isn’t a good time to talk about last n—“ 

Sansa is in the process of removing the t-shirt she had slept in when she realizes where the conversation is heading. Being true to herself and her fear of confrontation, she hurries to get fully dressed again so she can put an end to that exchange. 

“No.” She says, as she throws the t-shirt away and reaches for the clean one. Everything is too fresh in her mind, she can’t deal with Margaery wanting to talk about their kiss, not when Jon’s words are still echoing in her mind, and certainly not when there’s coffee involved. ( _But they kissed!_ Who on their right mind does that?!) 

“Figured as much.” Margaery sounds amused and it bothers Sansa that she thinks she knows her.

“There are more important things to discuss. That… can wait.” Sansa mutters, thinking and hoping that it waits forever. 

“When the end of the world is near, making out is kind of a big deal, though.” She keeps going, lightheartedly. “Specially when it’s as good as it was. Don’t you think?” 

Sansa’s cheeks are on fire, but even when she’s feeling self conscious, she’s aware of that pang of jealousy in her. Margaery’s good spirits come to her effortless and she… she has to feel angry and bitter all the time. 

They face each other and Sansa becomes an spectator of the changes happening in Margaery. It’s fascinating, the way that her whole face goes from playful and mischievous to… caring. Her eyes soften, it makes Sansa wonder if they can see inside of her, and when Margaery places a hand on her forearm, it doesn’t surprise Sansa. All the snark and bitter comments she had, they die on her mouth. She could have gone from an _“I don’t know, how about finding my lost sister? Do you think that’s important enough?”_ or a simple _“I’d rather drink coffee, thanks”_. But it’s the way that Margaery eyes linger on hers, the way she’s touching her arm… these gestures tell her that it’s not okay to say those things out loud. She can feel the energy in the room, it’s shifting quickly, transforming right in front of their eyes the same way Margaery is. It’s all connected, Sansa knows, one wouldn’t change without the other, and what baffles her the most is that she’s actually going along with it. While her brain is telling her that she should flee the scene (because everyone knows that if one doesn’t face something, it doesn’t exist… right? Right) her heart is to blame for her staying, her heart is the one making her stay. 

Margaery’s fingers travel down the length of her forearm. The touch is soft that if Sansa closed her eyes, she could have pretended that she was just imagining it. “I don’t know what you’re thinking… you’re not easy to read sometimes.” 

All the playfulness that she could hear just moments ago has disappeared. At that point, Margaery just sounds honest. And vulnerable. She sighs before she continues and Sansa holds her breath. She should have left when she had the chance. This… this is not okay. She shouldn’t be — 

“What happened between us… It doesn’t have to be a one time thing. Unless you want it that way.” 

Margaery stares at her with a mix of hope and dread in her eyes, yet her bravery’s showing, the bravery of a person who just said the things that she wanted to say. That’s way more than Sansa can say of herself, because she doesn’t even know how to answer. Hells, she doesn’t even want to be thinking about how to answer that. 

“Just… consider it.” Margaery says, almost whispering, once she realizes that Sansa’s not going to answer. “That’s all I’m asking.” 

And just when Sansa thinks that Margaery’s going to leave the room, she surprises her yet again, by leaning in. As the space between disappears, in just a matter of seconds, Sansa tries to predict how it’s going to feel, to kiss Margaery again for the second time in less than twenty four hours. She tries to remember the way her lips felt against her own, the softness and the warmth, yet instead of that, Sansa becomes overwhelmed by how different it feels now that there’s no urgency in the kiss. It’s as soft as the touch of Margaery’s hand on hers a moment ago. It’s barely there but it exists, it’s important. 

There’s an unexpected discovery to be made when Sansa realizes that she doesn’t need to say anything, actually, she doesn’t have to transform her thoughts into words… she could just kiss Margaery back. Right there, in that moment, in the middle of the fucking zombie apocalypse and on a remodeled firefighter tower, surrounded by presumably dead firemen’s bunk beds. Seven hells, why not? Margaery would understand. Well, she’d have to, since it’s the only thing that Sansa is capable of doing. She can’t give her words, but she could give her actions. Maybe that could be enough, at least for a while. Maybe. 

For that to happen she’d need to move, she’d need to unfreeze and do something. That’s another realization. Yet she doesn’t do either of those things. Sansa lets Margaery pull away a couple of seconds later. The warmth leaves with her, which doesn't surprise Sansa but is still disappointing. 

Less than a minute ago Margaery had hope, but now she’s looking at a girl who’s realizing that maybe Sansa’s a hopeless case after all. She sees it happen before her eyes, yet Sansa can only stare blankly at Margaery. The struggle happens inside, where she’s trying to find the courage to say something or to do something… anything! Trying to find a way to make things better, trying, trying… and failing. Every fucking time. 

“Okay.” Margaery breaks the eye contact and takes a step back, at last. The disappointment is evident, and so is the awkwardness that settles between them, yet Margaery hides them both with a speed and efficiency that makes Sansa even more jealous of her self-control. Margaery gestures towards the hallway with her head. “Don’t forget the coffee… it’ll be warm, still.” 

Sansa doesn’t even nod, she can’t. She watches Margaery disappear down the hallway with her jaw clenched, and it’s not until she’s out of sight when Sansa takes one shaky breath and closes her eyes for a couple of seconds. Trying to empty her mind before she goes to get breakfast is not as easy as she had hoped. She doesn’t have a kill switch for her feelings, and fucking Margaery has messed up with her head and… No. Sansa stops herself right there. She’s not going to think about _that_. She puts all her regrets in an imaginary box and pretends to leave them in the room. Sansa’s tired of having to carry them with her everywhere, all the time. She just wants coffee. Guilt-free coffee. She’ll come back for the box, anyway, it’s not like she can go very far without it. 

 

Now she knows. When you’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, little things are better than a fresh cup of coffee. Sansa savors the bitterness in her mouth, eyes closed and almost moaning, wanting to make this one of the permanent memories. 

“We knew of a store with these kind of products,” Sam explains, while he finishes pouring himself a cup. “The kind of stuff made to last for years and years after a disaster happens, you now? Sure, they though that it’d be a nuclear thing in another World War… but hey, it’s zombies. Guess you can’t predict these things.” 

“That’s lucky…” Rickon says, eyeing the cup in front of him. He hasn’t tried it yet, but Sansa knows he won’t enjoy it (specially not without sugar). It’s a shame that he won’t be able to keep drinking more to get used to the bitter flavor. 

“Not _that_ lucky. Sam knew the store because he had bought from it before.” Jon says, as he feeds Ghost pieces of some kind of dry meat. 

Sam playfully glares at his friend, who has an obnoxious smile on his face. The kind of smile that Sansa knows it’s reserved only for the people one trusts the most. 

“That was irrelevant information.” 

Bran steps in quickly, maybe thinking that this could be him, that they could have been joking about his own ‘nerdiness’. “We’re not going to judge…” 

“It really is okay.” Sansa nods, agreeing with her brother. “I had been worried that my brothers wouldn’t get to experience a cappuccino in their lives, so you know. Forever grateful and all that stuff.” 

“Don’t let her trick you.” Rickon squints at her while he shakes his head. “She’s been pestering us since the world ended… she’s always been like ‘oh but coffee was so great! I miss it so muuuuuch! Pleaseeeee, universe, pleaseeeee let me have a Starbucks cup again!’” 

“I don’t talk like that!” Sansa hisses, her cheeks reddening while she debates whether to murder her brother is a good idea or not. In the end, she chooses not to… but only because it’d mean to leave her coffee unattended.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to judge.” 

They all share a laugh… well, almost everyone. Margaery’s all the way across the table, sipping her beverage while looking pensive and not really paying much attention to the conversation. To everyone it might look like she’s simply enjoying the moment, but Sansa notices while taking sly glances at her that, from time to time, that the girl looks at everyone except at her. The anger starts to bubble inside her chest, what the fuck Margaery, really? _She_ was the one who told her to think about it, she was the one who kissed her, and now she’s offended Sansa couldn’t answer in that moment?! That’s just unacceptable! (Okay, it’s really not, but she needs to channel her feelings into something… and anger just works). 

Luckily for them both, Sansa takes deep breaths and tries to calm herself down. It wouldn’t be appropriate to glare at the girl in the middle of breakfast, would it? And she knows that if she lets herself feel, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. So she does the only thing she can in that moment, she focuses on the conversation and on savoring the cappuccino, while ignoring Margaery altogether (two can play that game). Maybe staying away from the remnants of society hadn’t been such a good idea. They had been missing out on breakfasts like that, coffee and a slice of bread. Heavens must be made of this, she thinks before she takes the last gulp of coffee, wondering when she’ll be able to enjoy another one. 

It comes earlier than she had anticipated, because Rickon quietly hands her his own cup, which Sansa gladly accepts. In the back of her mind, she wonders why would someone like Jon and Sam share something as valuable as coffee with them. She pushes the thought aside, choosing to enjoy that moment. 

 

Not much later, Rickon intercepts Sansa when she’s on the way back to her room, almost giving her a heart attack in the process, appearing out of nowhere. Sansa’s ready to complain and punch him on the shoulder when he puts his index finger on his lip, quietly dragging Sansa to the room he shares with Bran. And she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t weirded out by that.

“What the fuck, Rickon!” She mutters, her jaw clenched. Sansa, who took pride in the fact that she was always alert, had clearly gotten used to being in a safe space. Safer, at least. She’s not okay with this change in her attention to the surroundings. 

“Shh! Gotta show you something.” 

Rickon makes sure there’s no one else on the hallway before he closes the door behind them, Sansa sees Ghost for a second, on the furthest side and wonders if he knows something sketchy’s going on. When she looks at her brother there’s that mischievous smile on his face, the one that Sansa knows well and the reason why she dreads whatever’s coming next. He lets go of her arm and kneels besides one of the bunk beds, pulling something from under the mattress. Sansa’s eyes open in surprise when she realizes it’s a bedrail. 

“Rickon! Oh my gods, what did you do?” 

“Plenty of beds, I’m sure they won’t miss a bedrail…” He shrugs and grins. “I kept thinking… it’s not okay for us to be here unarmed, you know? No matter how friendly they look things might happen, and we better be ready for them.” 

Sansa chuckles. That’s so like him, and for once she’s kind of glad that he’s being the one protecting the family. That’s the attitude they should have during the end of the world, instead… she’s been too focused on coffee and bread and Margaery, forgetting to pay attention to the only thing that matters: their survival. 

“Better safe than sorry, yeah?” Rickon pulls her out of her self deprecating thoughts, and Sansa nods absentmindedly, taking the bedrail on her hands. Sure, it’s not her bat… but it’ll do, if the time comes when they need it. “What do you think?” 

He stands in a way that makes it crystal clear he’s proud of what he’s done, but there’s also insecurity in the way he looks at her. Then it clicks… He’s looking for her approval. How did she just notice? And what surprises her the most, more than his inventiveness, is that he has actually earned it. She doesn’t know why she hadn’t thought of something like that, the sense of security she feels in the tower has made her careless, despite knowing where that leads. 

When she wraps him in her arms Rickon groans and squirms, but she’s strong (she’s had to be) and eventually he stops fighting, kind of melting into the embrace. So much for his previous resistance! They stay like that for a few seconds as two siblings sharing something, a sense of closeness and belonging. It’s so rare that if Sansa had to choose between what memory to keep, this or the coffee, she’d choose him. But she’d never admit it out loud.

Then, he talks, his voice muffled by Sansa’s t-shirt. “If you tell Bran this happened…” 

“Don’t worry, R. It’ll be our secret.” She squeezes him one last time and lets him go, but not before she ruffles his hair. “Thank you, for doing this.” 

He shrugs and tries to hide the smile on his face. “No problem, big sis.” 

 

After taking a shower, something she could definitely get used to as well, she can’t take it anymore and almost runs to the makeshift barn, the place she’s been dying to go to since she first saw the horses. Sam said he could use her help, so that’s what she’s going to do. She’s going to spend as much time as she can with the animals, because they’re nice and also because Margery won’t be there. 

The smell of hay and horses takes over her senses the moment she opens the door, she smiles. There are a lot of memories tied to that smell, of her mom and dad taking her to the riding center; how she looked at them while she was riding just because she wanted to see their proud faces whenever she did something trickier, the hard but rewarding job of cleaning the stall of her horse… it’s a smell she knows, one she recognizes and one that she cherishes, now more than ever. 

The two horses look at her with interest, following every move she makes. Sansa grabs a handful of hay and offers it to one of the two, the one she likes the most (even though it feels wrong to have a favorite without even knowing them). His fur is like her hair, and she can’t help but think that they’d look awesome together riding into the sunset or something epic like that. A perfect match, really. The other horse doesn’t stop staring, Sansa knows that he’s judging her for choosing his friend and not him. 

“Sorry, dude…” She whispers, wishing for the horse to understand her. Life’s hard. 

“Do you ride, Sansa?” 

Sam’s voice startles her and she hisses. The horse in front of her snorts and shakes his head, annoyed at her surprise. He’s probably thinking “you idiot, how could you not know he was here?” 

“I used to.” She turns her attention back to the horse. “These guys are gorgeous.” 

“They are. And fast, too.” Sam smiles as he pats his neck, the horse must be happy with all the attention he’s getting. “When we’re done, feel free to take him out, if you want.” 

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t… He doesn’t know me.” Sansa hates herself for saying no, but she knows that it’s the smart thing to do. It’d be dangerous to ride him without knowing him and the other way around. If only she could be there for a while… She misses riding. She really does. “What’s his name?” 

“Jax, and the other one’s Aemon.” 

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you Jax?” 

The horse snorts softly as if it were replying to her. Sansa laughs, because she had been craving this, uncomplicated interaction with a living being. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Sansa pats Jax’s shoulder, feeling the skin twitch beneath her fingers. Everything about that horse makes her a little bit less cranky, it makes her not hate the universe as much as she usually does. The way his fur feels beneath her fingers, his little sounds, his smell… there aren’t many things that feel as good as this. _Kissing Margaery._ There. There it is. The thing she’s trying to forget, always coming back. No matter how hard she tries, some stuff she can’t leave behind. 

Sam starts explaining the stuff they have to do before the day’s over and she focuses on that. It’s interesting, but not only that, it also keeps her mind somewhere safe. She learns that every couple of days he takes the horses to a meeting point where the exchange with the adjacent camps takes place. Sam shows Sansa the improvised carriage they have, crafted out of an old towing trailer. 

“We make them feel safer, and they provide food for us.” He explains. “The arrangement works, for now.” 

“For now?” 

“Things are bad, but not _that_ bad… not around here, I mean.” He hums to himself. “It’s just… I can’t keep wondering what will happen once things take the wrong turn. Will they still be friendly? Will we be surrounded by enemies? We’ve got plenty of weapons, but we’re just two people against hundreds.” 

“And people are worse than zombies…” Sansa mutters these words as she gives Aemon a handful of hay and half a carrot. Sansa hasn’t paid him much attention but he’s gorgeous too, dark grey with black socks and black mane. Majestic, really. 

“Well, not everyone…” Sam says, his voice almost a whisper. 

Sam gives the other half carrot to Sansa so she can give it to Jax. The action brings so many memories back… memories that make her feel sad of all the things she’s lost since everything started. 

Not everyone. Maybe he’s right. They’ve given them shelter and food, more than she would have expected. Hells, they’ve even shared some important information about the way they run things around… the kind of thing you wouldn’t say to someone you consider dangerous. 

“You know how grateful we are for this, right?” She asks, carefully. She’s not about to start crying about it, but she really wants to make sure he knows and understands. 

“Of course…” 

“I never expected this.” 

“It showed.” He laughs softly and Sansa kind of smiles, too. “And I understand, your experience with this whole thing has been way different than it’s been for us… we’ve been left alone most of the time.” 

“We’ve crossed paths with lots of people before before Margaery…” She shrugs, not wanting to remember what happened. “It wasn’t nice.” 

“Some people don’t understand that it’s easier to survive if you’re not alone.” 

“Starvation and dehydration will do that to you.” 

She sees the pity in Sam’s eyes and hates herself for that last comment. She shouldn’t have mentioned it. She doesn’t want him feeling bad for her. Fuck, they’ve survived against all odds. It’s nothing to feel sorry about. 

He quickly changes the topic, seeing how she’s not in the mood for sharing, and Sansa cheers up once again, when she’s listening to Sam’s stories about his childhood in a farm that wasn’t far from there. They spend the next hour like that, he does most of the talking and Sansa listens, happy to have someone else’s stories to hear, because no matter how her brothers always seem to have something to talk about… it’s nice to be surrounded by other people. And unlike Margaery he doesn’t ask intrusive questions or wants to know more about her. He lets her choose when and how to share things. 

Maybe that’s why she lets him convince her to take Jax out for a ride. True, she didn’t put much of a fight… but only because although she hadn’t known the horse for a long time, she felt a connection with him. Sam could see it too, and honestly? She ached for it. 

In a day of new beginnings, or new experiences, Sansa knows she’ll remember her “first” ride for a long, long time. It feels like home. Jax’s hooves striking the ground, how she has to close her eyes when they gallop against the wind, how her fingers tangle on his mane, the way her muscles flex when she leans to pat his neck, how she gives him directions that he follows swiftly. And to think that she almost turned the offer down! 

She brings Jax to a halt and turns around, her eyes scanning the landscape on the lookout for Sam and Aemon. He wasn’t fond of galloping, he had said, and he’s still a few hundred meters away. Sansa leans on Jax’s neck and whispers kind words, for she’s glad he has accepted her. 

When the horse paws the ground, Sansa just pats him reassuringly on the neck, while she tries to communicate with Sam. She wants to make sure they’re on the right path because she kind of got carried away and… as embarrassing as it is, she’s not sure if they have to go right or of left. 

She realizes a little too late that she should have paid better attention to Jax’s pawing because he’s the one who sees them before she does, hence why she’s not ready for what comes next. One second she’s standing on the horse, waving and shrugging at Sam, the next one she’s falling off the horse. 

When her back hits the ground, all the air in her lungs is released and for a moment she can’t breathe. But what a glorious second it is, because even if she can’t even breathe, she’s just there, stunned and lying on the ground. But suddenly it hurts _everywhere_. 

She doesn’t know for sure, not until she hears Sam yelling from afar, but of course it’s zombies, fucking zombies, it’s always about them. Getting up isn’t easy and she almost gives up, but she knows they must have been close for Jax to rear up like that, so she makes extra effort getting strength from gods know where. 

“This is why we can’t have nice things…” she mutters in between whimpers. 

The gurgling sounds precede the sight of the zombie, but when she finally sees it Sansa scrambles back to her feet. The damn thing’s closer than she had anticipated and the adrenaline rush makes it easier for her to deal with the pain. She’s going to survive this! 

When the zombie lunges towards her she dodges it with ease. 

She yells and screams partly due to how much it hurts to move her arm and partly because she’s incredibly angry. Angry at the world, angry because zombies exist, angry because she just wanted to ride for a few minutes… why was that too much to ask?! When the zombie stumbles and turns, ready to attack again, Sansa reaches for the knife she had been allowed to carry outside (they’d never send her unarmed to the outside world, Jon had said) and, with her left hand, she positions herself in an angle that allows her to sink it into its skull. It breaks the bone with ease, and even though the zombie has started to fall, Sansa pulls the knife out and stabs it again. That thing isn’t going to rise ever again.

She falls to her knees and whimpers, no matter how dramatic it looks like. It’s too much sometimes, the world. It hurts and she wants to cry, but she can’t because she has no tears left and, even worse than that, she can’t even allow herself to feel miserable, because she has just realized that there are other zombies coming and Sam’s finally there and… fuck. She needs to pull herself together. 

“Oh my gods, Sansa!” At least he’s got her horse with him.

He dismounts swiftly and helps her up. Sansa winces when he takes her by the arm, but she fights the need to be vocal about it. He’s only trying to help, after all. When he’s made sure that she can stand by herself, he looks away, to the group of three zombies that’s approaching. Sansa sees him gulp. Maybe he likes them even less than she does. Or maybe he’s worse at hiding his fear. She’s had years of practice, after all. 

“Are you okay? Can you move? Do you think you can ride?” 

“I’m fine…” She’s not, but he doesn’t need to know. Although he’s not blind, she realizes, as she wipes the blood from one of her forearm scrapes with her T-shirt. 

“Come on, we need to get you back on the horse.” 

Sansa takes a quick look at the dead walking towards them. They’re getting closer, the smell of blood (her blood, she realizes) has made them excited, they probably have less than a minute before they can’t escape without a fight. 

“I’m getting rid of them first.” She says, with decision. 

Sam’s eyes widen. “No, you’re not.” 

“Take Jax and go home. I’ll be okay.” 

“No! Gods! Are you out of your mind? Jon can get rid of them when they get closer.”

She considers struggling. She’s strong, probably stronger than he is. If she wanted, she could get rid of the tight grip on her wrist and she could go and fight those fucking things. 

“Don’t make me stay to protect you… please.” 

His voice is soft and it makes Sansa’s heart drops to her feet. She turns at him and sees the worry in his eyes. He thinks it’s a suicide to stay in her condition to fight them. Maybe he is right. Maybe she is. She knows she can take them before they get her… but none of that matters because his eyes are pleading and after all they’ve done for them… how can she say no? 

Both Jax and Aemon are getting restless, they’re running out of time. 

“Okay…” 

Sam laughs as he releases the air he had been holding and helps her back on the horse. She grabs onto the reins, focusing on the signals that the horse is sending her completely. She’s not making the mistake twice again. She taps him lightly with her heels and the horse starts moving. 

“Let’s go.”

Sam doesn’t need to be told that twice, in a matter of seconds they’re galloping towards the tower, putting distance between the zombies and themselves. Riding doesn’t feel as good as it did a few minutes before, not when she’s sore in so many places, but she still manages to find it enjoyable. 

 

 

“You could have died!” 

“It wasn’t that bad.” 

“It wasn’t—” Her brother exhales loudly and runs his fingers through his hair, something he does when he’s frustrated. She knows this because she’s seen it before… but usually the cause of frustration had been Rickon, not her. She had never experienced it first hand before. “Look, I get it. You’re angry at the world and you feel like need to protect everyone… but you need to take care of yourself too!” 

“I know that.” 

“Then why do you insist on putting yourself in danger and using us as an excuse?” 

“What the… I wasn’t using you as an excuse!” Sansa stares at him dumbfounded, surprised about the accusation. “Besides, since when am I _insisting_ on putting myself in danger? Come on. Be realistic.” 

“Sometimes it looks like you’re trying to get yourself killed.” 

“I’m not! But things aren’t always easy, Bran.” 

“Of course they aren't, we’re living among zombies! But it doesn’t mean you can say ‘fuck it all’ and just decide to do things on your own.” 

“But I didn’t stay!” She says, frustration getting to her, as well. “I came back, okay? I came back.” 

Bran glares at her, she’s managed to hurt him and that’s not something she does normally. “Sam convinced you, Sansa. He _had_ to convince you. And I’m supposed to feel good because you somehow decided to listen to him in the end?” 

She glares back. “Maybe you should, yes.” 

“You’re an idiot, then.” 

That’s it. Her brother, her younger brother, shouldn’t be talking to her like that. Specially if she never even did anything wrong! So what if she had wanted to stay and fight? She reconsidered, isn’t that the beauty of being a human being capable of rational thoughts? She’s not going to take crap for him, she’s had enough. 

“I wanted to keep you safe, if you have a problem with that—” 

“Liar.” 

“Don’t you dare, Bran.” 

“You could have _died_ , Sansa. Why won’t you realize?! Do you really want me to spell it? Do you?! Without you, it’d be just me and Rickon! Mom and dad are gone, so is Robb, and who knows where Arya is? We need you, Sansa… We need you. And we need you alive. Is that so hard to understand?” 

“I just wanted to keep you safe.” She repeats. Maybe it’s not entirely true, but she knows she’s not lying either. She did want to take care of the problem before it became one. 

“We’re in a damn tower, Sansa! Those zombies weren’t a problem.” 

“I wanted to deal with them so you wouldn’t have to.” 

“And who’s taking care of you, huh?” His face goes from annoyed to sad and worried in a matter of seconds, Sansa hates it. “You need to let us, Sans.” 

“I can’t ask that of you.” 

“You’re not. We’re offering…” 

She sees his point, she does. But her brain is telling her not to be weak, not to falter… she can’t allow that to happen because there’s so much to lose. She could lose them and she won’t have that. 

“Sans, come on.” He’s using that name for her, again, he clearly knows how to touch her. Even though she’s aware of his ‘trick’, it’s effective. “We’re family. We’re a pack, okay? We stick together.” 

“Okay.” 

“No.” Bran shakes his head. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

His eyes are full of understanding, they are so different from the way they looked at her when the conversation had started that it looks like she’s talking to a completely different person. Sansa feels the tears coming and she fights hard to keep them at bay. She’s been crying too much lately, what the fuck is going on with her? Then again, it’s not technically her fault that her brother’s being all emotional and stuff. 

“Be here, okay? With us. Don’t carry all our weight on your shoulders… you have to let us help.” 

So much for not wanting to cry, she thinks before she decides to ‘fuck it all’ as Bran had said and gives up. For a second time that day, she finds herself hugging one of her brothers tightly. 

 

Besides a few bruises on her back, the scrapes on her arms and a bump on the head, Sansa is surprisingly okay. No serious injuries, no broken bones… a successful day, after all! Yet… she’s trying to play a slightly more dramatic role when Margaery enters the room. She was expecting her at some point, so she had the weird ointment that Jon and Sam gave her waiting. The moment she hears Margaery’s footsteps approaching she starts to apply it on her scrapes (she’s such a little shit, really). 

Sansa doesn’t look up when the door opens and Margaery’s steps come to a halt. 

“Jon told me what happened…” 

When she allows herself to look at the other girl, Sansa’s taken aback by how pretty she looks. Her hair’s in a messy bun and she’s wearing a tank top that’s half covered in mud and dirt, she wouldn’t be able to hide where she had been all day, even if she tried. 

“He does seem like the gossip type.” Sansa says, half joking. 

Margaery doesn’t pay attention to the joke, but she’s visibly concerned.“How are you?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“And how are you actually?” 

Sansa smirks, as she looks back at her arm and keeps spreading the paste. “You know.” 

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.” 

Gods, she’s so infuriating! 

“Rumors say that you tried to take down four zombies on your own.”

“Three.” Sansa corrects. “One was already dead again by the time the others arrived.” 

On a scale of one to ten, one being fine and ten being fucking nuts… is it weird that she’s kind of proud of what she’s done? Like… bragging rights? 

“And that was a good idea _how_?” 

“I’ve already had the talk with my brother, so please, spare the saliva.” 

She doesn’t want to hear about it. She was there, she doesn’t need Margaery (or anyone else, for that matter) to tell her how dangerous it had been. In fact, the only thing that she wants in that moment is to forget that it happened at all. Now she realizes how dumb it had been to play the victim, such a stupid stupid idea. 

She gets up from the bed and goes to find a towel, anything to keep her from looking at Margaery. It’s nowhere to be found. Maybe she forgot it in the bathroom. 

“Fine.” 

“ _Fine_.” 

She sees the other girl roll her eyes. “Why are you being like this, Sansa?” 

“I’m being like what? You’re the one who refused to even look at me this morning.” She still refuses to look at Margaery directly, so keeps her focus on cleaning the ointment off her fingers. She’s so classy that she uses her trousers for that, since the towel vanished. 

“Oh my gods!” Margaery groans. “I can’t do this. Do you even hear yourself? Get your head out of your ass, Sansa! I kissed you, you didn’t even _move_ , what was I supposed to do? Throw myself at your feet?” 

Sansa closes her eyes for a couple of seconds, but even though she can’t see Margaery… She still hears her. And the things she’s saying… she can’t say they’re wrong. She deserved Bran’s anger, and she deserves Margaery’s as well. And that’s why she doesn’t do feelings, because people get hurt and _she_ gets hurt. 

“I get that the end of the world arrived when you were still a teenager or something, Sansa, but you need to grow the fuck up.” 

Her eyes dart to Margaery’s. Has she ever heard the other girl curse? Because that’s so not like her. How Margaery knows what she’s thinking, she doesn’t know, but the girl rolls her eyes again and lets an exasperated sigh. 

It’s wrong, so clearly wrong. But Sansa can only think of one way of making all this disappear, of shutting up her brain and, in the process, shutting Margaery and her complaints (no matter how right they are, or maybe precisely because they are so right). In a matter of seconds she reaches her and she pushing Margaery against the closed door. The girl gasps in surprise and Sansa smirks before she takes her face between her hands and kisses her. It’s not pretty, it’s not soft, it’s messy and hard and kind of perfect too even though Sansa doesn’t want to think in terms like that. On top of that, and unlike Sansa that same morning, Margaery does kiss her back and her eagerness almost makes Sansa moan. It’s painful when Margaery’s fingers dig in her bruised back, but then she’s pulling her closer and their bodies just fit together, so how can she complain? The pain will fade in a second, and in the meantime she’s got Margaery’s leg between hers, pressing in just the right places and— fuck, it’s so wrong. 

_Tomorrow_ , she thinks, tomorrow she’ll make things better. She’ll talk to Margaery, she’ll tell her how she definitely, definitely, does not want to get involved in something like this. She doesn’t do feelings. _Today_ , though… she can’t help the smile that spreads on her face as she grinds against Margaery’s body, her lips grazing her jaw, her fingers tangling in her hair as she hears her soft sounds… 

_Tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry for taking sooooo long to post this. I stared at the story from time to time, wondering what to do with it. But I have to say Clarke and Lexa took the most space in my brain and I wrote a lot of stuff for them (nothing that's finished, though) so it felt weird to go back to Sansa and Margaery. But here I am again, I miss my girls. 
> 
> And in terms of the story... there's more action in the upcoming chapters! And hopefully I'll post chapter 5 in less than a year! But I won't make any promises, lol. (But seriously, I will post it earlier than that...)


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